Will To Live
by SouthernChickie
Summary: What would happen if Tessa died in "The Darkenss", but Richie lived without becoming immortal? Rated for lanugage and sensitive topic. NOW COMPLETE!
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimers: Richie, Mac, Sean, Joe, Amanda, Tessa, Emily, Angie..not mine.  
  
AN: This story asks the question: What would have happened after "The Darkness" is Tessa had died and Richie had lived without becoming immortal?  
  
Thanks to Dawn N. I got the basic plot for this from one of her stories and she was gracious enough to let me go ahead and post it. Thanks to Tamara who helped me through some writer's block and came up with some great suggestions. Thanks to Ashley for encouraging me to go ahead with the story.  
  
Important note: This story contains subject matter that may be sensitive to some. Please know that I am not trying to take this very serious problem lightly and some details have been altered (i.e. the combination of drugs Richie tries to use will not kill you) just for my own peace of mind. I didn't feel right putting out a suicide manual for all to see.  
  
WILL TO LIVE  
  
Duncan still had trouble putting the words together in his mind. 'Richie is suicidal.' He couldn't admit to himself that it was true, yet here he was helping Sean Burns put leather restraints on an unconscious Richie. . .  
  
"He'll be fine, Duncan," Sean assured him. "We'll get him through this. You just have to remember to be firm. There are things he can and can't do now. And he's not going to be happy with the new rules. But it's for his own good. You and I both know that, and in time he'll see that too."  
  
Richie moaned softly and turned his head. Duncan recognized Richie's wake up routine, he turned his head left, decided it was uncomfortable, turned it right and tried to lift his hand to rub his eyes. We he found he couldn't lift his hand he made a soft pouting noise and tried his left hand, only to run into the same problem. He grumbled something unintelligible and tried to sit up. He couldn't. Slowly he opened his eyes and looked at his surroundings. Sleepily he took it all in. He was at the cabin, in his room. . . tied to his bed? Richie jerked his limbs and found he was indeed tied to his own bed.  
  
"What the hell is this?" he asked himself.  
  
"Good morning, Richie," Sean greeted.  
  
Richie looked at him. "What's going on?"  
  
"We had to take a few precautions, but everything is okay."  
  
Richie pulled at his bonds. "Get these things off me."  
  
"I'm sorry, we can't do that."  
  
"Get 'em off me!" he demanded.  
  
"Richie, we can't take the risk that you might hurt yourself," Sean explained calmly.  
  
Richie turned his head and looked at Duncan. "Mac? Little help here?" Duncan didn't respond. "Mac? Mac!" Richie sounded almost desperate.  
  
Duncan looked at Sean, who shook his head. 'Be firm,' he mouthed.  
  
"Sorry, Rich," Duncan said hoarsely. "It has to be done."  
  
"No it doesn't," Richie pouted softly.  
  
"We don't have much of a choice. You can't keep trying to. . ." he couldn't say it. He had to say it. He had to face facts. Richie was suicidal. "You can't keep trying to kill yourself."  
  
"So you're just going to tie me down and leave me here?"  
  
"Only until you stop saying those things," Duncan insisted.  
  
"Saying what?" Richie demanded.  
  
"That you want to kill yourself."  
  
"I do!"  
  
"No, you don't. You're just upset."  
  
"How would you know?" Richie scoffed.  
  
"Because I know what you're going through. I lost Tessa, too."  
  
Richie looked away. "Who said this had anything to do with her?"  
  
"That's when this all started, isn't it? After Tessa died?"  
  
"Shut up!" Richie yelled keeping his face turned.  
  
"I've hear you at night, crying. . . you miss her. And that's okay, it's good. But you can't keep saying that you want to die, too."  
  
"Not 'too', 'INSTEAD'." Richie corrected shaking his head. "It should'a been me, not her. She didn't do anything." His voice was soft and gravely. "It's not fair."  
  
Duncan wanted nothing more to touch Richie, untie him, and hug him. He moved toward the boy but Sean stopped him. "Keep him talking, you're doing fine," he said softly.  
  
"No, Richie, it's not fair," Duncan said. "It's not fair that she died. It's not fair that the kid got away. It's not fair that you want to leave, too. It's not fair to me. You're all I have left."  
  
"Whatever."  
  
"It's true. Just because you didn't die doesn't make it your fault. There was nothing you could have done."  
  
"It should'a been me," Richie insisted.  
  
"Don't say that."  
  
"Why? It true!" Richie turned and glared at Duncan through teary eyes. "And don't try to tell me it's not! Cause I know it is!"  
  
"Richie, do you hear yourself? How can you say that? It shouldn't have been either one of you."  
  
"But it was her! Why?"  
  
Duncan put his hand on Richie's shoulder. "I don't know."  
  
"Don't touch me!" Richie screamed jerking away. "Leave me alone!"  
  
"Richie," Sean said stepping forward. "We all know you love Tessa. And she loves you. What do you think seeing you like this would do to her?"  
  
"You'd be ripping her heart out," Duncan answered for him. "She could never see you acting like this, it would kill her."  
  
"Then it's a good thing she's already dead," Richie spat. "because this way I don't have to worry about what she thinks."  
  
"Richie!" Duncan scolded. "I better not ever hear you say anything like that again!"  
  
Richie set his jaw and looked up at Duncan. "Hear me say what?" he asked cockily. "That I want to die? That I want it all to be over? That I don't give a shit what Tessa might have thought if she was here? Which one? Because I mean them all. I'd rather be in hell paying for all the shit I've done in my crappy little life than stuck here with you!"  
  
"Watch it," Duncan warned stepping toward Richie. Sean put a hand up to stop him.  
  
"You'd rather be in hell?" Sean asked Richie curiously.  
  
"Damn right I do! But this is pretty damn close. You two always hovering over me, watching everything I do," Richie argued back. "Analyzing everything I say. Trying to find the hidden meanings. There aren't any! I mean what I say! Every God damn word of it!"  
  
"No, you don't," Duncan told him firmly.  
  
"Like hell I don't!"  
  
"Richie, I don't know where all these feeling came from," Sean said gently. "But they came from somewhere, and I want to find out where. I'm sure you do, too. Once we can pinpoint exactly why you feel the way you do we can fix it. Everything can go back to normal."  
  
"The only way everything can go back to normal is if Tessa came back," Richie answered turning his head away. "Now get these things off me."  
  
"Do you promise not to try to hurt yourself?" Sean asked.  
  
"If I do will you let me go?"  
  
"Only if you mean it," Sean answered resolutely.  
  
"Fine, I promise," Richie shrugged.  
  
"Promise what?"  
  
He sighed. "Not to try an' kill myself."  
  
"Okay, then." Sean motioned for Duncan to help him unbuckle the restraints. "Take a few minutes to calm down, then I want to talk to you. So come to the living room when you're ready." Richie rolled onto his side and didn't say anything. "Did you hear me?" Richie still didn't answer.  
  
"Richie," Duncan said angrily. "Answer him."  
  
"Yeah, I heard ya," Richie mumbled.  
  
"Good, I'll see you in a while." Sean turned and left.  
  
"Richie," Duncan said softly. "I know you're angry right now. And you're hurting, but killing yourself isn't going to help anything. Give Sean some more time. He knows what he's doing. He can help you. He wants to help you, but you have to let him." Richie didn't say anything so Duncan turned and left, leaving the door open. He found Sean in the living room patiently waiting for Richie. "He's not going to come, you know," he said.  
  
"He will in time," Sean answered. "But you came. Do you want to talk?"  
  
Duncan looked at Sean. "I can't believe I didn't see this coming. I should have known. I didn't think he'd take it this hard."  
  
"You had no way of knowing. The human mind is a complicated piece of work. It has a way of catching anyone off guard. No matter how well you know someone, they can always surprise you. For instance, I've known you for a couple hundred years and never would have thought you would take a teenage boy in. Even under these special circumstances. You never seemed the type."  
  
Duncan sat down across from Sean. "I guess not. Are you sure it's safe to leave him alone?" he cast a glance down the hall to Richie's room.  
  
"I can see him from here," Sean said with a slight smile. "As long as he leaves the door open he can't do anything. And if he closes the door, I'll open it back up and tell him he's not allowed to."  
  
"I don't think he'd be very happy with that. He's very private."  
  
"He can have he's privacy back once he demonstrates he can be trusted with it. But right now, lets talk about you. How are you handling everything?"  
  
Duncan sat quietly for a minute gathering his thoughts. "I can handle Tessa's death," he said softly. "Right now I'm worried about Richie."  
  
"Okay, fair enough. Tell me what happened before you called me. I'm still not quite sure what all happened." Sean had met Duncan and Richie two weeks ago at the cabin. He had only been able to get Richie talking once, but when Richie noticed Duncan listening he had refused to say anymore.  
  
"The night Tessa was shot, Richie was as well. . . but he survived. He recovered. He healed. . . without becoming immortal. About a week after he got out of the hospital I noticed he wasn't eating or talking much. I guess I was too distracted to notice before then. I tried to talk to him, but he insisted everything was fine. He started losing weight, and he didn't have much to lose to begin with. He started becoming really withdrawn. Telling me he was going to Angie's all the time. Then one day I called to ask him to stop by the store on his way home. . . Angie hadn't seen him in weeks."  
  
"Do you know where he had been going?" Sean asked.  
  
Duncan shook his head. "No, he won't tell me."  
  
"He told me. He was going to cemeteries."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"He felt at home there. He felt that was where he was supposed to be."  
  
"How long has he been suicidal?" Duncan asked in alarm.  
  
"Weeks," Sean answered. "But he hasn't told me if he's tried to act on it yet. For all I know today was the first attempt. Once he trusts me more I want to give him an exam, to check for any signs of attempts."  
  
"He kept taking aspirin and decongestants. He claimed he had headaches and his allergies were bothering him. Do you think he was trying to OD?"  
  
"Did you ever actually see him take the aspirin?" Sean asked. Duncan shook his head. "Maybe we should check for a stash. He might just be biding his time."  
  
"Then why did he try to cut himself?" Duncan asked. The memory of Richie crouched in the kitchen at three o'clock that morning holding a butcher's knife at his wrists was still fresh in his memory.  
  
Sean shrugged. "Maybe he felt that it would be faster, that we wouldn't notice. . . that it would hurt more. A lot of the time people in Richie's situation feel they deserve to be in pain. That they should suffer. Now, what made you want to call me?"  
  
"I just thought he needed to talk to someone. And if I was part of the problem, you were the only one he could tell."  
  
"Do you think you're part of the problem?"  
  
"Yes. I do. He won't talk to me, tell me anything. He just keeps lying. I must have done something wrong."  
  
"So, you're telling me you feel Richie's withdrawn state is your fault?" Sean asked watching Richie go into the bathroom and immerge with a glass or water.  
  
"Yes," Duncan answered turning around when he heard Richie's door close.  
  
Sean stood up and calmly walked down the hall to inform Richie of the new rules. Duncan followed to assure Richie that his inevitable temper tantrum wouldn't change anything, what Sean says goes. Without knocking, Sean opened the door. Richie looked up, surprised by the sudden intrusion.  
  
"Raised in a barn?" he snapped, closing the drawer of his bedside table quickly.  
  
"Barns hadn't been invented when I was raised," Sean answered.  
  
Richie smirked. "Smart and funny, the women must be falling over themselves to be with you."  
  
"I came to tell you you're not allowed to close your door."  
  
Richie's eyes widened. "Excuse me? Since when do you make the rules around here?" he demanded moving towards them.  
  
"Since now," Duncan said from the doorway.  
  
"What? This is ridiculous! Why can't I close my door?"  
  
"Because you broke your promise," Sean answered.  
  
"Did not!" Richie defended.  
  
"What's in the drawer?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"There's obviously something there if you were looking in it."  
  
"Fine, none of your business." Sean stepped past Richie and went to open the drawer. "Hey! Stay out of there!" Richie said moving to stop him, but Duncan grabbed him from behind. "Mac! Let go of me! Leave me alone!" He fought his grip.  
  
"Is this what you were going for?" Sean asked pulling a fistful of pills from the drawer.  
  
"Let go of me!" Richie ignored Sean's question.  
  
"Richie answer the question," Duncan ordered.  
  
"No! Let me go! I don't have to tell you anything!"  
  
"Richie, just answer the question!"  
  
"Yes!" Richie screamed. "Yes! Okay? I was going for them! What do you care?"  
  
Duncan turned Richie to face him, still keeping a strong grip on the boy's shoulders. "I care! How can you say I don't?" Richie stared up at Duncan and didn't respond. "Richie, do you think I don't care?"  
  
"Let me go, you're hurting me," Richie said softly.  
  
"Isn't that what you want?" Duncan snapped instantly regretting it when a look of horror appeared on Richie's face. "Richie I . . ."  
  
"Let me go!" Richie screamed pulling himself out of Duncan's hands. He stumbled back, surprised to break free so easily and ran out of the room.  
  
"Richie!" Duncan called chasing after him.  
  
Richie ran out the front door of the cabin and paused trying to figure out where to go. What did it matter? Duncan and Sean would just find him and haul him back. He'd at least give them one hell of a fight. He picked a direction and ran. He could hear Duncan and Sean chasing after him. He jumped over a log and dodged around trees. He could feel thorns and rocks cut into his bare feet with each step he took. After a couple minutes his feet were slick with blood. He paused a second and tried to figure out where he was going. He started back up the steep hill.  
  
"He's headed for the cliff!" Duncan shouted over his shoulder to Sean.  
  
Richie panted and screeched to a halt at the edge of the cliff. 'I can't do it!' He thought. 'Why can't I do it?'  
  
"Richie, stop!" Duncan screamed desperately. "Don't!" He ran up behind the boy and grabbed him around the waist and pulled him back. Richie let out a yelp as they crashed to the ground. He rolled off of Duncan and started to run again, and ran headlong into Sean, who grabbed him around the wrists.  
  
"Richie, I think we need to have that talk now," Sean said calmly, keeping his grip as Richie tried to jerk away.  
  
"I don't care what you think!" Richie yelled. "Let me go!" He shifted his weight as far from Sean as he could. "I don't wanna talk to you! I just wanna die! Why won't you leave me alone?"  
  
"Because we don't want you to die," Sean answered.  
  
"I don't care!" Richie screamed back.  
  
"Richie, we just want to help," Duncan explained taking hold of his left arm.  
  
"No!"  
  
"Why don't you want us to help you?" Sean asked letting go of Richie and taking a seat on a nearby rock.  
  
"Because, I don't! Let me go!" He try to pull from Duncan but didn't have enough strength left to get away.  
  
"Do you not want to say why or do you not know why?"  
  
"I don't know! God! Just leave me alone, please," he began to beg.  
  
"Richie, no," Duncan answered. "I don't want to lose you. If we leave you alone I'm scared of what you might do."  
  
"Well, ya didn't wanna lose Tessa either. But shit happens. And this is gonna happen whether you want it to or not," the boy was panting and starting to sway a little.  
  
"Not if I have anything to do about it," Duncan insisted.  
  
"You don't," Richie retorted weakly.  
  
Duncan studied the boy carefully. "Richie are you okay?" He loosened his grip and took hold of Richie's other arm as well. "Richie?"  
  
"Lemego," Richie mumbled as his knees gave. Duncan held him up and looked to Sean for help.  
  
"Let's get him back to his room," Sean said standing up.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
The restraints were back. His door was open. He felt sick. And he still wanted to die. Richie stared at the ceiling and replayed the last month in his mind. Tessa had been killed. Nobody had ever straight out told him, he had figured it out while he was in the hospital. Nobody mentioned her, he never heard from her, it was obvious she had died. He had been the lucky one, the bullet had settled into some soft tissue and had easily been removed.  
  
The loft felt awkward to be in. Everything was Tessa. He couldn't stay there for any extended amounts of time. His room was the only place he felt relaxed. She had very rarely gone in. She knew he liked his privacy and was happy to give it to him. But she had always been ready to listen and talk if he wanted to. He had told her things that only he had known. Things he had never planned on telling anyone. . . like the time he had almost shot himself when he was eleven. Duncan hovered, always checking to make sure he was okay, never really meaning it, just going through the motions.  
  
Day to day life became miserable. All he could think about was Tessa and how she had died and he hadn't. She was the one Duncan loved. Richie still didn't really know why they had let him move in, or what he was doing there. He had needed a place to live at the time. Anything was better then nothing. Tessa was the one Duncan loved. They were engaged. Tessa loved him, too. She should have been the one in the hospital bed, not Richie. Richie was just some charity project Duncan worked on in his spare time. Nothing serious. They had a relationship. What it was exactly, Richie wasn't sure. But there was something there. But not what Duncan and Tessa had. They had true love. Love that was rare to find. Love that deserved to be ended by old age, not a random shooting.  
  
Graveyards became comfortable. Graveyards became home. They were the only place that seemed as miserable as he felt. Duncan wouldn't have understood what Richie was doing, so he told him he was going to Angie's. Angie had blown the whistle. Duncan was furious.  
  
So he drug him to the cabin. Maybe the mountain lions would eat him. That's when Richie met Sean Burns, some immortal psychologist. Basically an old guy who thought he knew everything. He sat Richie down and talked to him, tried to get him to talk back. Finally out of sheer annoyance Richie began to talk. Let a few things out into the open. But Duncan was nosey and listened. Richie stopped talking.  
  
Then, it had all become too much. Sean was always asking him about Tessa, how did he feel about the loss? How did he feel about Duncan now? How did he feel in general? He felt like dying. Richie had known it was a mistake to say it the second he heard his own voice say 'I want to die', but it was too late; the damage was done. So he put on a face and played along. Made it seem like Sean was helping. He stayed quiet, but responsive. He spent a lot of time in his room. Every now and then there would be a knock on the door and he would make some kind of noise to prove he was alive. Sean and Duncan didn't take him seriously, nobody ever did. That wasn't true, Tessa had.  
  
One night he decided that he needed to be taken seriously, and waited for everyone to go to bed and snuck into the kitchen. He found the biggest knife he could and decided it was time. He must have made some kind of noise loud enough to wake Duncan, because the next thing he knew he was being wrestled to the ground and the knife was gone. Good for them, they stopped him once. . . he still had the gun.  
  
He had woken up tied to his bed. He wasn't happy. He tried to run away, passed out and woke up once again tied to his bed. Life sucked, and he wanted it to be over. He heard someone walking down the hall and closed his eyes.  
  
"He's still not a wake," he heard Duncan whisper softly.  
  
"He probably hasn't eaten enough today, it made him weak," Sean answered. Richie tried not to smile. Shows what they know, he hadn't eaten at all. . . not for a long time. Sean checked Richie's pulse and breathing. "He'll be fine. We'll get him to eat when he wakes up."  
  
"I'm going to stay," Duncan whispered telling Richie Sean was leaving. "I'm sorry toughguy," Duncan whispered brushing Richie's hair back. "I know you don't like this, but it's the only solution." His voice was thick with emotion. "We really do want to help, we just need you to let us. Stop pretending, talk, let it all out, it will help. . . I promise." Richie turned his head away and made a soft noise hoping Duncan would think he was bothering him and leave. It didn't work. "I didn't mean to snap today," Duncan continued. "You've got me pretty scared. I already lost Tessa, I don't want to lose you, too." Richie pulled gently at the restraints and tried to scoot away, he was pretty sure Duncan was crying. "I don't know what I did to make you think I don't care what happens to you, because I do. You have to believe me, you mean a lot, you're a big part of my life, and I want you to stay. I don't want to treat you like this, I know it will probably just push you farther away, but it's a chance I'm willing to take to make sure you're safe. Richie, you have to believe me. I don't know what else to do, I just want to help. Please, let me help."  
  
Richie was pretty sure Duncan was crying, it made him want to cry, and he didn't want to. If he did Duncan would know he was awake, who knows what havoc that would reek. He turned his head when he was sure Duncan had left. That little revelation sure put a wrench in the works. This wasn't going to be as easy as Richie thought.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"How are you feeling, Richie?" Sean asked sitting across from Richie in the living room. Richie shrugged and looked away. "The same?" Richie thought for a minute then looked at Sean.  
  
"Does Mac talk to you?"  
  
"Yes, he tells me how scared he is that you are going to hurt yourself, carry out one of your threats."  
  
"Does he talk to you about Tessa?"  
  
"He wants to work through that on his own. Between you and me, I think he's avoiding thinking about her, using what's happening with you as a distraction."  
  
"Glad to be of service."  
  
"Why are you so curious about what Duncan thinks?" Sean asked leaning forward. Richie shrugged and looked away again. "Do you want to make sure the way you feel is okay? Are you using his emotions to validate your own?"  
  
"I don't know," he shrugged.  
  
"Because people handle death differently. Older people and younger people react differently. Plus, it depends on how directly involved people are. You were a lot more involved in Tessa's death. Duncan just saw the end result, you saw beginning, middle and end. You can't gauge your feeling by his."  
  
"Who said I was?"  
  
"I think you are. Isn't that why you want to know how he feels?"  
  
"Do you tell him everything I say? Or is you doctor/patient confidentiality selective?"  
  
"I don't think it will help Duncan much to hear everything you say, not that you say much. But I think knowing how he feels is helping you," Sean answered having expected Richie's sarcasm.  
  
"Oh."  
  
"What was it like that night?" Sean asked after a minute. "What do you remember?" Richie stared at him, trying to decide what to do. Duncan's words ran through his mind 'I just want to help. Please, let me help.' "Do you not like to talk about it? Sometimes talking about it helps. I bet it would make you feel better."  
  
"Tessa used to say that," Richie said softly, feeling his chin begin to shake.  
  
"Did she used to listen to you?"  
  
"Yeah." His nose started tingling.  
  
"Did you like that?"  
  
"Yeah." His breathing was ragged.  
  
"What did you tell her about?"  
  
'Stop pretending, talk, let it all out, it'll help. . . I promise.' He took a deep breath. "Everything, anything, I just liked having someone listen. I think she liked having someone talk." Tears gathered in his eyes. "She never judged me, told me what I did was wrong, she just listen and told me everything was okay now, I was safe, nothing was going to happen." He paused and looked at Sean who was looking intently at him. "The last thing I remember about that night. . . was Tessa looking at me." The tears began to slide down his cheeks, he made no move to stop them. "She was in pain, I could tell. She didn't say anything, she didn't have to, I know what she wanted. She wanted me to help her, and I couldn't. I wanted to, I tried, I swear I tried! But I couldn't. Then she died. Right in front of me, just like Emily. I couldn't help either one of them."  
  
"Who's Emily? What happened to her?" Sean asked. Richie shook his head and sniffed. "You must be uncomfortable, do want to stop for today?" Richie nodded. "Okay, then we'll stop. I think you'll find that talking about it is helping, it's not just a lie we're feeding you. If you want to talk again before tomorrow, just find me, I'm always ready."  
  
Richie nodded and began wiping at his cheeks. He didn't know why he had brought up Emily. That had been fourteen years ago. Maybe this was working. He hadn't been thinking about anything while he was talking, he wasn't trying to regulate what he was saying or tell him what he wanted to hear. After listening to Duncan talk the day before he had felt guilty for what he as doing. He still felt guilty about Tessa, but he could do something about what was happening now. He knew he had hurt Tessa when he hadn't helped her and just let her die. He knew he was hurting Duncan by trying to kill himself. He couldn't make it up to Tessa, but he could make it up to Duncan. And he knew where to begin.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Duncan looked up as Richie stepped out onto the porch. "Hey, how'd it go in there?" he asked, figuring Richie wouldn't respond.  
  
"Good," Richie answered with a slight nod.  
  
"Glad to hear that. You feeling any better?" he ventured hoping to keep Richie talking.  
  
"A little more confused, I started talking about Emily."  
  
"Really? I didn't see that one coming."  
  
"Me neither, I wanted to tell you something."  
  
Duncan put his book down and motioned for Richie to sit next to him on the bench. Richie declined the offer and continued to stand with his hands behind his back. "What'd you want to tell me?"  
  
Richie took a deep breath. "You have to promise not to get mad yell, first," he said softly avoiding Duncan's gaze.  
  
"Okay, I promise not to get angry and yell."  
  
"Okay." Richie held out his right hand fist down. He somberly looked up at Duncan waiting for him to make the next move. Duncan held out his hand and Richie dropped something into it.  
  
He looked at it. "What's this?" he asked fully aware of what it was.  
  
"A bullet," Richie answered.  
  
"Where'd you get it?"  
  
"I found it, at the loft, in the hutch. . . with this." He brought his left hand out from behind his back loosely holding Duncan's pistol by the butt with the barrel pointing down, careful to keep his fingers away from the trigger. He held it out for Duncan to take. "Are you mad?" he asked softly when Duncan didn't say anything.  
  
Duncan swallowed. "Yes," he started slowly.  
  
"You can yell if you want," Richie told him shrinking back a little. "I swear I won't do anything."  
  
"I'm not mad you," Duncan assured him. "I'm mad at myself for not thinking to look if you had this. Have you had this the whole time?" Richie nodded sheepishly. "Are there any more bullets?"  
  
"No, I only figured I'd need one."  
  
"Why are you giving this to me?" Duncan knew why, but he wanted to hear Richie say it.  
  
" 'Cause I don't want it anymore," he whispered.  
  
"You don't want it?"  
  
"No, I don't need it. I changed my mind, I don't wanna die." His voice broke and he fought for control. He didn't want to cry twice in one day.  
  
"Richie!" Duncan dropped the pistol and bullet onto the bench and pulled him into a tight hug, "You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that!"  
  
"I'm sorry," Richie whispered.  
  
"It's okay," Duncan assured him. "It's okay. This is a big step. A very big important step." He let go of the hug but kept his hands on Richie's shoulders. "What made you change your mind?"  
  
"You," Richie sniffed a couple times. "Yesterday, I heard you. You thought I was asleep, but I wasn't."  
  
Duncan couldn't help but laugh. "You heard all that?"  
  
Richie looked confused by Duncan's laughter. "Didn't you mean it?" he asked slightly hurt.  
  
"Oh, Richie, yes. I meant it. I meant it all, every word. I just said it when I thought you were asleep because I didn't know how to tell you to your face. But you heard it all?"  
  
"Uh-huh." His face crumpled and a loud sob escaped him. "I'm sorry, Mac. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I just didn't know what to do. I hurt so bad, and I just want it to stop, and it's the only way I know how!"  
  
"Oh, Richie!" Duncan pulled him back into a hug. "We can fix that."  
  
"I just want it to stop!" Richie sobbed. "I have nightmares, every night. I can't close my eyes without seeing it! It just happens over and over and over and I can't make it stop!" His voice was tight and he was hard to understand. Duncan just held him and strongly as he felt he could without hurting him. "I'm sorry I didn't stop him, I wish I could go back and change it. I should have done something! I wanted to. Mac, I swear I wanted to!"  
  
"Shh, Richie it's okay. You didn't do anything thing wrong. There was nothing you could have done. It's not your fault."  
  
"Yes it is!" Richie insisted. "I should have done something!"  
  
"What could you have done?" Duncan asked him. "You were shot, too. It's not your fault, you hear me? Its not you're fault."  
  
"Mac. . ." Richie started but didn't finish what he was originally planning on saying. Instead he moaned softly. "I don't feel so good," he managed to mumble before everything faded first to gray then black.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Richie groaned and rolled onto his side. He couldn't bring himself to open his eyes; if he did he would have to face reality. . . and Duncan. . . and Sean. He wasn't ready for that yet. He could hear Duncan whispering but his head was too foggy to make out what was being said. He felt movement around him and began to wonder what was going on. Slowly he opened one eye. His vision focused on Duncan's hand resting on one of the restraints. Immediately he sat up.  
  
"No!" he pleaded pushing himself into his headboard. "Please, don't! I didn't do anything! I just wanted to keep it!" he explained desperately.  
  
Duncan looked up, surprised by Richie's reaction. "I'm not going to. . ."  
  
"Oh, God, please don't!" Richie continued trying to figure out what he had done wrong. "I'll eat I swear, just please don't!"  
  
"Woah, woah, woah, Richie, calm down." He reached towards him, but Richie jumped away.  
  
"Mac, I hate those things. I'll try harder I swear, I'll do whatever you want me to, just don't please! Don't put those things on me!" his pleadings turned into desperate whispers.  
  
"Richie, lie down," Duncan said softly. Richie did as he was told and began to whimper softly. Slowly he stretched his legs out and laid his arms at his sides, silently pleading with Duncan the entire time. Gently Duncan reached over him and picked up a restraint. Richie squeezed his eyes shut and didn't move. "Open your eyes," Duncan told him. Once again, Richie as he was told. Duncan was holding all four restraints in one hand. Silently he walked to the hall and dropped them outside the bedroom door. "I'm not going to put those on you again," he assured him softly.  
  
Richie regarded him carefully. "You're not?"  
  
"No, I was taking them off the bed. I know how much you hate being tied down."  
  
"Oh," Richie said rolling back onto his side facing away from Duncan, slightly embarrassed.  
  
Duncan sat on the edge of the bed and looked at Richie's back. "What did you just want to keep?" he asked softly, trying to sort out Richie's rambling in his head.  
  
"You're gonna get mad," Richie told him.  
  
"No I won't," Duncan promised. "What did you keep?" Richie didn't respond. "You need to give it to me, whatever it is. I promise I won't yell."  
  
"Top drawer."  
  
Duncan got up and opened the dresser. "There's nothing in here," he said looking at the t-shirts.  
  
"It's in the blue shirt, on the left."  
  
Duncan picked up the blue shirt and unfolded it. Inside was the picture of Tessa Richie had kept next to his bed. The glass and frame were broken and several of the larger pieces had dried blood on the edges.  
  
"Did you cut yourself with this?" he asked softly. He noticed that he nearly always whispered around Richie now. Richie nodded into his pillow. "When?"  
  
"Last week." Duncan could barely hear him over his own ragged breathing. As far as he had known they had always gotten to Richie before he did anything.  
  
"Okay. . ." Duncan said slowly sitting back down.  
  
"You're mad aren't you?" Richie still wouldn't look at him.  
  
"No. But I think there's a lot more you haven't told me." Richie didn't respond. "Where did you cut yourself?" Richie rolled onto his back and looked at Duncan with the same face he had made when handing over the gun. He gently rested his hand on his chest. Duncan put the shirt and the picture on the bedside table and lifted Richie's shirt. His chest was covered in jagged cuts all around the scar from the bullet wound. "Anywhere else?" he asked calmly. Richie shook his head. "What else have you not told me?" Richie looked away and mumbled something. "What?"  
  
"I don't eat," he repeated slowly. ". . .at all. I haven't for a long time," he admitted watching carefully for Duncan's reaction.  
  
"Anything else?"  
  
"No. . . you're mad. I can tell. I'm sorry, Mac. I try. I try, really I do. I just can't. I don't know why."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"Duncan, calm down," Sean said putting together a sandwich for Richie.  
  
"I can't believe this," Duncan groaned falling into a chair. "I thought we were making progress."  
  
"You are."  
  
"How can you say that? You didn't see his chest. Or his ribs. I could count every single one of them."  
  
"But he let you see, that's progress. He gave you the gun, he gave you the glass, and he told you he wasn't eating. How can you say you're not making progress?"  
  
"He won't tell me anything until I promise not to get angry. He's always scared I'm going to yell."  
  
"Are you angry?"  
  
"Yes, but not at him. . . it's what he's doing to himself."  
  
"So tell him." Sean put the sandwich on the table. "Richie can you come in here?" he called down the hall. "Duncan, he can't leave until he eats something. He's going to complain, but he can't leave. I'll decide when he can, but you'll be the one to tell him."  
  
"What's up?" Richie asked from the doorway.  
  
"Sit down," Sean said pulling out a chair.  
  
Richie sat down and looked at the sandwich. "How did I know this was coming?" he sighed.  
  
"You have to eat," Sean told him.  
  
"I know. . . but I don't want to."  
  
"You have to."  
  
"I don't want to," Richie repeated.  
  
"You still have to."  
  
"Mac," Richie whined. "C'on I'm not hungry."  
  
"Richie, just try," Duncan told him.  
  
"I can't," Richie insisted.  
  
"Trying can't kill you, but not trying can."  
  
Richie made a face and looked down at the sandwich. He looked like he would rather be anywhere else in the world but at the table. Slowly he put his hands on the table, then pulled off a small piece of bread. He held it for a few seconds then ate it. Duncan watched waiting to see what Richie would do next. Richie swallowed and looked directly at Sean.  
  
"There, you happy?"  
  
"Almost. You have to eat more."  
  
"I don't want to!"  
  
"You already started, all you have to do is keep going."  
  
"Man, c'on, I can't," Richie said pathetically shaking his head.  
  
"Just a little more."  
  
"Mac!" Richie once again turned to Duncan for help.  
  
"Just a little more, Richie," Duncan said softly.  
  
Seeing this was a battle he wasn't going to win, Richie gave in. Once again he stared at his plate. He opened the sandwich and explored its contents. He picked up a slice of tomato and felt he was about to throw up. He put it back down. He took a deep breath and began ripping off small pieces of lettuce. He slowly ate each piece. After half an hour he had only managed to eat half a piece of lettuce.  
  
He looked up at Duncan with a strangely ashamed, yet firm, expression. "Mac, I can't eat anymore."  
  
Duncan looked at Sean, who nodded. "Okay, that's enough for now. Maybe later, huh?"  
  
"I think I'm gonna be sick!" Richie exclaimed getting up and running to the bathroom.  
  
"Rich, you okay?" Duncan asked opening the bathroom door. He found Richie kneeling in front of the toilet with his index finger down his throat trying to gag himself. Richie looked up at him surprised by the intrusion. "What are you doing?" Duncan demanded at the same time Richie yelled,  
  
"Get the hell out!"  
  
"No!" Duncan dropped to his knees next to Richie grabbing his wrists. "What do you think you're doing?" He yelled.  
  
"Leave me alone!" Richie shouted back pulling himself free.  
  
"What are you doing?" Duncan demanded not realizing he was yelling until he heard his own voice echoing in the small room. "What's wrong?" he asked fighting to control his anger.  
  
"I don't feel good," Richie explained lamely. "I just wanna throw up."  
  
"Is it because of the food? Or do you think it's something else?" Sean asked from the doorway.  
  
"Why does it always have to be something else?" Richie demanded struggling to his feet. "Can't I just not feel good? Or am I not allowed to do that, either?"  
  
"Richie, calm down it's just a question," Duncan ordered unable to control his anger any longer.  
  
"If you're so big on the question and answer games you play for awhile, I'm sick of it!" Richie barked trying to push past him.  
  
"I'm not the one with problems," Duncan retorted holding him firmly.  
  
"Well good for you! It's not my fault I don't know what the hell's going on in my head! I keep answering all these stupid questions with stuff I haven't even thought about in years. I keep having all these weird dreams. I can't explain a damn thing that's going on. You guys keep looking at me like I have two heads or something. It's not my fault! It's not like I do it on purpose! I just do! I don't have any control over what I do anymore! It's not fair!" Richie screamed finding the strength to push past Duncan. Sean stepped out of his way and Richie retreated into his room slamming the door behind him.  
  
Duncan moved to go after him, but Sean put his hand up. "Let me be the rule enforcer. You're the one he needs to depend on not me," he said as he put his hand on the doorknob. Without a moments hesitation he opened the door. "You know you can't do that," he told Richie sternly but gently.  
  
Richie was sitting cross-legged on his bed, arms crossed and glaring, the poster child of the unhappy teenager. "Whatever," he responded rolling his eyes.  
  
"What?" Sean asked.  
  
Richie set his jaw and snorted before responding. "I know."  
  
"Know what?"  
  
Richie sighed heavily out of his nose and clenched what was left of the muscles in his arms. "I can't close the door," he said slowly.  
  
"Until?"  
  
"Until I can be trusted with my privacy," he finished through clenched teeth. Sean had made it a point that Richie know why each and every rule had been made, and if Richie broke a rule he had to repeat the rule and the reason it was being enforced before Sean would leave him alone.  
  
"Okay. And just so you know, from now on you stay with one of us for an hour after you eat. And the bathroom door stays open a crack, so you can't start throwing up." Sean told him. "Do you understand?" Richie nodded. Sean raised hie eyebrows and Richie groaned repeating what he had been told word for word. Satisfied Sean turned and left. Richie stared coldly after him, daring Duncan to say anything as he walked past his room to the kitchen.  
  
"I've never had to force him to eat before," Duncan said looking at the mostly untouched sandwich. "I was usually pulling food out of his mouth, not pushing it in."  
  
"But he ate," Sean said.  
  
"And then tried to throw it up."  
  
"He doesn't know why though. My guess is whatever was keeping him from eating convinced him he was sick. It's a basic animal instinct to try and vomit if you feel you ate something bad. This is normal behavior."  
  
"What's normal about the way he's acting?" Duncan asked.  
  
"Everything. These are normal reactions to situations like this. He hasn't told me much, but what I can gather is he didn't have a typical childhood. I'm sure he's hiding abuse, physical and emotional, something about what happened to Tessa triggered feelings he's been hiding. It all became too much and he acted out on them. My job is to sort out the emotions find what's causing what and help him learn to handle the impulses. He's depressed, Duncan, and he has survivor's guilt. I'm pretty sure he's got guilty feelings about this Emily person, too." Sean sat down at the table and motioned for Duncan to join him. "Guilt is a tricky thing, a little is good. But sometimes people feel guilty over something they had no control over, like Richie and Tessa's shooting. Some people can handle it, others can't. You can, Richie can't.  
  
I can talk to him, listen and figure out what's going on. I'll tell you what you need to know, but your role is to be supportive and to end the uncomfortable situations. For instance, just now, I called him to eat, I made him eat. Then when it was okay for him to leave, you told him. He broke a rule, I reprimanded him. When certain rules are ready to be dropped, you'll be the one to tell him. I'll be the one he associates with having to do something he doesn't want to do, you'll be the one who makes it stop. Eventually, he'll stop wanting to talk to me and favor you. I'll leave then, but you can call with questions. I don't know how long it will take, but in the mean time I'll help you learn how to handle his temper without pushing him away. You seem to basically know what to do, but your temper is what's going to slow you down."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Three days later at two o'clock in the morning Duncan awoke to the call of nature. On his way back to bed he noticed a thin stream of light running down the middle of the hall. He stepped out of his room and walked toward the bathroom. He could hear water running and figured Richie had made it a habit to shower in the middle of the night because he had to leave the bathroom door partially open. He decided to leave Richie alone and went back to bed, but waited for the bathroom light to be turned off before trying to go back to sleep. He closed his eyes and listened to Richie pace the hallway. Then he heard soft footsteps disappear, but not into Richie's room. Unable to take not knowing any longer Duncan got out of bed to find where the boy had gone.  
  
Richie stood in the kitchen trying to work up the courage to open the refrigerator. He knew he wasn't supposed to be in the kitchen alone, not after they had caught him with the knife. He stared at the cool steel door and tentatively reached for the handle.  
  
"Richie?" Richie whirled toward the voice and immediately dropped his eyes to the floor and clasped his hands firmly in front of him to show he wasn't doing anything wrong.  
  
"I'm sorry," he apologized quickly.  
  
"Richie," Duncan took a step towards him but stopped as Richie backed away.  
  
"I know, I know. I'm not supposed to be in the kitchen because there are too many things I could hurt myself with," he mumbled not sure what was going to happen. Sean was usually the one who confronted him when he broke the rules.  
  
"So why are you here?" Duncan asked genuinely curious.  
  
"I have a headache, thought maybe I was hungry. . ."  
  
"You want to eat?" Duncan asked excitedly; the hardest part of everyday was getting Richie to eat anything.  
  
"Maybe," Richie shrugged still refusing to look up.  
  
"Okay, so let's give it a shot," Duncan jumped at the chance to change eating from a chore to a decision. He reached around Richie and opened the refrigerator. "See anything that looks good?"  
  
"Not really," Richie answered after a minute.  
  
"Okay," Duncan started opening cupboards. "Just yell if you see something."  
  
"Nothin'." Richie shook his head angrily, his mounting frustration with himself evident.  
  
Duncan thought for a minute. "Maybe something to drink?" he offered. Richie shrugged. "We'll try that," Duncan decided and poured two glasses of milk.  
  
He sat at the table and silently Richie followed. He watched Duncan drink and spun his glass in his hands. With obvious difficulty he lifted the glass to his lips and took a sip, belatedly followed by another. When he finished a quarter of what little had been poured for him he decided he had had enough.  
  
"Does this count as eating something?" he asked softly.  
  
"I think so," Duncan answered.  
  
"Oh," Richie sat quietly staring blankly at the table. After a minute he looked up stifling a yawn. "I know I'm supposed to hang around for an hour and everything, but I'm really tired. Can I just go to bed?" Duncan looked off put by the request. "At the very least can we go to my room? I don't care if you come, I just wanna go to sleep."  
  
"Okay," Duncan got up and put the unfinished milk in the refrigerator for later. "Go ahead, I'll be there in a minute."  
  
Richie nodded and started down the darkened hallway. Duncan noticed he stayed as far away from the bathroom as he could as he passed it on his way to his room. Duncan sat back down at the table and folded his hands in front of himself. He need time to collect himself before facing Richie again. Not two months ago Richie had been a loud, rambunctious, normal teenager. He had been eager to please and always acted on good intentions. He had needed nothing more than some positive attention and a gentle shove in the right direction to make sure he did the right thing.  
  
But one night, one moment, one action had changed all that.  
  
Duncan almost physically shuttered at what he saw when he entered Richie's room. The boy was curled up in his bed already asleep. He was thin and pale; a mere shell of who he had once been. He sounded pathetic every time he spoke; a mixture of shame and embarrassment clouded his usually cheerful voice as he asked for permission to do the simplest things. . . go to the bathroom, get a glass of water, close the door so he could change without someone accidentally seeing him. He obediently did as he was told for fear of getting into trouble (something the old Richie never seemed to worry much about), he constantly need reassurance that nobody was mad at him, and reacted with total fear whenever there was a hint of anger in someone's voice as they spoke to him.  
  
Duncan settled into the overstuffed chair that Richie loved so much and contented himself just watching the boy sleep. Richie rolled onto his back and stretched out, then after a couple minutes he rolled onto his stomach and buried his head under the blankets only to kick off the covers and curl up in the middle of the bed minutes later. 'No wonder he hated the restraints, he's never still,' Duncan thought in mild amusement as Richie groped blindly for the blanket and flopped over again tangling himself in it, while mumbling something. Then Duncan remembered that Richie had mentioned his dreams a couple times and began wondering if this was one of them. Richie stopped moving around and came to rest in the position he had been stuck in while being restrained and began mumbling again.  
  
"Rich, you okay?" Duncan asked softly getting out of the chair.  
  
"Mac," Richie moaned softly.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Ugh," he complained.  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
"Don't."  
  
"Don't what?"  
  
"Please don't," he begged turning his head. "Don't, Mac, please."  
  
"Richie, Richie, wake up." Duncan softly shook his shoulder.  
  
"Don't!" Richie sat up panting. Confusedly he looked around. His eyes eventually came to rest on Duncan. "Mac?"  
  
"You were having a nightmare."  
  
"Oh, okay," he said nonchalantly lying back down.  
  
"Do you want to tell me about it?"  
  
"I don't remember it," he shrugged.  
  
"Are you just saying that?"  
  
Richie thought for a minute. "Yes," he answered turning away.  
  
"Do you not want to talk about it?"  
  
"No. Are you going to make me?"  
  
"No. . . but I'm sure Sean will want to talk about it tomorrow."  
  
"Okay," Richie answered already drifting back to sleep. Duncan waited until he was sure Richie was asleep then went to back to his room to think about what had just happened.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
A week later Richie somewhat begrudgingly talked with Sean daily, but had begun to find it easier to talk to Duncan, which he did regularly. Eating was still a chore and heated debates always started over food whenever Richie decided he didn't want to eat when Sean told him was time to. Richie had decided that he liked being outside and spent as much time as he was allowed just sitting in the yard where he could easily be seen from the house, which was the rule that had been set. As long as they could find him when they needed him Richie could go wherever he wanted (with the exception on the woods and too close to the water) after letting someone know where he was going. Richie was at first happy when he heard this, then realized it was a fancy way of saying he could go into the yard in front of the cabin and only there. He still spent days just wondering around or lying in the grass staring at nothing and only coming in when told he had to.  
  
Richie was sitting in the grass letting the sun warm his face when Duncan came out with lunch. 'Let the battle begin,' Duncan thought as his shadow crossed Richie's face.  
  
"Not hungry," Richie said not looking up.  
  
"You're never hungry, so it doesn't matter," Duncan responded.  
  
"Aw, man," Richie grumbled taking the plate. He inspected the sandwich, tuna fish and pickles on wheat. "Now, here's a real incentive," he said making a face.  
  
"Eat it," Duncan told him.  
  
Richie sighed heavily letting Duncan know he wasn't happy before he began his picking apart the sandwich ritual. He carefully removed any tuna essence from a pickle before staring at it. Duncan sat down next to him patiently waiting for him to put it in his mouth. Which he did, after a few unsuccessful tries.  
  
"Not so bad is it?" Duncan asked.  
  
Richie made a face as he chewed. "Tastes like tuna," he complained.  
  
"So does the rest of the sandwich."  
  
"Great," he drawled as he began ripping apart the bread and scraping off the tuna scraps.  
  
"You have to eat some of the fish," Duncan told him preparing to fight. Richie looked at him, then at the small pile of tuna and mayonnaise on his plate, then back to Duncan. "You have to." Richie crinkled his nose and scooped a little onto his finger.  
  
"I don't like tuna," he announced.  
  
"You have to."  
  
Glaring at Duncan out of the corner of his eye; Richie stuck his finger, tuna and all, into his mouth. "Balch!" he stuck out his tongue trying to rid his mouth of the strong tuna taste.  
  
"More."  
  
"No more," Richie contradicted handing the plate to Duncan.  
  
"A little more." He tried to hand the plate back.  
  
"I don't want it." Richie crossed his arms.  
  
"I don't care," Duncan retorted. Richie looked up at him eyes wide. "That's not what I meant. . ."  
  
"I know what you meant," Richie snapped.  
  
"Then why did you look at me like that?"  
  
"Like what?" Richie demanded jumping to his feet.  
  
"Like I slapped you," Duncan answered standing up as well.  
  
"I don't know." Richie turned and started toward the cabin.  
  
"Richie." Duncan followed him. Richie ignored him and quickened his pace. "Stop." Richie froze on the stairs and waited for Duncan to catch up. "Sit, now." Duncan pointed at the bench on the porch and Richie sat. Duncan held out the plate. "Take it." Richie took it. "You're not getting up until you eat half." Duncan folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the porch railing.  
  
The order registered in Richie's mind and he slowly folded himself in to a more comfortable position before he started eating again. It took him nearly an hour to satisfy Duncan. When he was told he could leave he confusedly looked back up at Duncan.  
  
"You don't have to stay anymore as long as you don't start throwing up," he told him.  
  
Richie nodded and retreated to the farthest corner of his boundaries and sat back down in the grass. The sun was no longer out. In the time it had taken him to eat, winter storm clouds had rolled in. He didn't care, he was somewhat alone. Duncan picked up the plate and went into the cabin to find Sean. This had been his first attempt to feed Richie by himself. It had gone better than he had expected, but he still felt awkward ordering Richie to eat.  
  
"How'd it go?" Sean asked as Duncan entered the kitchen.  
  
"Half." He tilted the plate so Sean could see.  
  
"That's pretty good. What did he say when you told him that he didn't have to wait with you anymore?"  
  
"He didn't say anything, he just left."  
  
"Was he mad you made him eat so much?"  
  
Duncan looked out the window and craned his neck to get a clear view of Richie. "He's still pouting, if that tells you anything."  
  
"He'll be fine in less than an hour," Sean assured him. "He never stays mad for long. Easy to bruise, quicker to heal."  
  
"Looks like its going to rain," Duncan commented at the same time the clouds let go of their load in a soft but steady rain.  
  
Richie had been lying in the grass with his hands behind his head half asleep when it began to rain. At first he didn't move and let the drops dampen his clothes, face, and hair. It hadn't rained in a while, which was rare in that part of Washington. After a couple minutes he sat up and watched the rain on the water. He began wondering if he should go inside. He didn't want to and decided that he'd stay out in the rain as long as they let him. He started thinking about Tessa, she loved the rain. Whenever the storms got really bad she would make hot chocolate and sit staring out the windows. Or sometimes she would open the large gate-like doors to the alley in her workshop and watched it rain from there. Every now and then Richie joined her and they would sit silently just watching. Emily loved the rain as well. Back then Richie had been young, barely a toddler, and scared of the storms. She would tell him stories to distract him during the day, and let him sleep with her at night protecting him from the thunder and lightening. A few tears began mingling with the rain on his cheeks as he sat, watched, and remembered.  
  
Duncan and Sean watched Richie from the porch. The boy didn't move, just sat and stared.  
  
"I wonder what he's thinking?" Duncan mumbled.  
  
"Why don't you go ask him?" Sean suggested. He had been gently shoving Duncan and Richie together more and more over the past week, slowly working his way out of the picture. Duncan looked at him for a second then slowly walked to Richie.  
  
"Hey," he greeted softly, but Richie still jumped.  
  
"Do I have to?" Richie asked.  
  
"Have to what?"  
  
"Go in."  
  
"No," Duncan answered with a shrug. "Not if you don't want to."  
  
"Okay." Richie pushed some hair out of his eyes and went back to staring. He could feel his spirits rising; he had been allowed to make a decision without having to make sure what he decided was okay to do. He could decide to go outside, but sometimes he had been told 'no'. This time he decided and that was that.  
  
Duncan sat next to him close, but keeping his distance. "Tessa and I used to do this," he told him softly.  
  
Richie looked at him. "Me, too."  
  
"Really? I thought you hated nature."  
  
"I do, most of the time. But, I dono sometimes. . . sometimes the company makes it worth it." Duncan didn't respond. He wondered if Richie was talking just about Tessa or him to, if maybe this was Richie's subtle way of reaching out to him. "When I was little," Richie started excitedly. "Emily and I used to go out and splash in the puddles after it rained. One time she woke me up, it had to have been, like, four in the morning or something equally as strange and we went outside. I started dancing around and singing, and she was just laughing. . . she thought I was a total nutcase. And we made enough noise to wake up the neighbor's dog and he started barking and howling and then all the other neighborhood dogs joined in. . . people's lights started turning on so we ran back inside so nobody would know it was us." His story over he lapsed back into silence and stared at the rain. After a couple minutes he started to shake slightly.  
  
"Are you cold?" Duncan asked.  
  
Richie shrugged. "A little."  
  
"Do you want to go inside?"  
  
"No. . . you gonna make me?"  
  
"You'll get sick if you don't. You've probably been out here too long already."  
  
"Fine." At least his decision had stuck for a while, even if it did get corrected rather quickly. Richie got up and waited for Duncan before heading back to the cabin.  
  
When they got to the porch both paused trying to figure out what to do about their muddy, wet clothes and shoes. Richie looked at Duncan for a second, smirked, then settled down on the bench to take off his shoes. Duncan watched him, wondering what he had been smirking about. For the past month or so a smirk from Richie had always been followed by a smart- ass remark, not a seemingly innocent action. Richie smirked again as he stood back up and began to strip. Soon there was a pile of clothes at his feet and all he was wearing was his boxers. He looked up at Duncan nodded curtly and vanished into the cabin, only to come back half a minute later to hand a very confused Duncan a towel.  
  
"Problem solved," he announced with the first genuine Richie smile Duncan had seen in nearly two months.  
  
"Now you're really going to get sick," Duncan laughed. "Go inside," Shrugging Richie gathered his clothes and went to find something dry to put on.  
  
Duncan watched him leave. For the first time all the progress Sean had promised they had been making was clear to him. The shy, reserved, worried Richie had vanished. The old Richie, the Richie that did whatever first came to mind no matter how strange of random it may be, the Richie that needed nothing more that a gentle shove in the right direction and a light smack to keep him there was back. Now the only question was which Richie would surface when they got back to Seacouver? 


	2. Part Two

AN: okay, so I lied, I said this was a two part story. . . well, it's looking like three parts now. Thanks for all the reviews! By the way, MP- I am most hurt that you think you MIGHT be warming up to Richie. . . what's up with that? Richie is the best! (rant rant rant!) Blackblade: Original Richie, Old Richie, New Richie. Only one will survive. . . the others shall be voted out of Seacouver!  
  
Duncan and Richie made the decision to sell the Antique shop and the loft. It had only taken three weeks to find a buyer. That gave Duncan enough time to buy a dojo across town, but they were still looking for a house. They were staying in the loft above the dojo until they found a new place. Richie still wasn't eating much, and because of that he couldn't do the one thing he wanted to do most, work out.  
  
"I'm telling you, Mac, I can handle it," Richie insisted as Duncan led him to the dojo office.  
  
"And I'm telling you, Richie, you still don't eat enough yet. If you start working out you're going to have to eat more." Duncan closed the office door. "You can barely manage what I put in front of you, so you can't afford to burn any extra calories."  
  
"Mac, c'on, can't I at least try? If I start to feel funny I'll stop, I promise."  
  
Duncan thought for a moment. "I'll tell you what. You can start working out a little, and I stress 'little', after you gain five more pounds."  
  
"Five more pounds! Mac, that'll take me forever!"  
  
"Not before," Duncan insisted.  
  
Richie had managed to gain about a pound or so a week. It had been nearly a month since they had left the cabin and he still looked rather pathetic. It didn't help that they had suffered a bit of a set back when they got back to Seacouver. Going from where he and Tessa had never been together before to somewhere they had spent a year together did a number on Richie's eating habits. He started hiding food again, pretending to eat, and Duncan had caught him purging. "One hour after every meal and the door stays open," was all Duncan had said when he caught him. Richie knew what that really meant, all the 'privileges' he had work so hard to get back, were gone. His own private lock down was once again in effect.  
  
They began their three times a day fighting ritual. Food was still not high on Richie's list of things he wanted. Duncan was pretty good at keeping his temper and only lost it once. Oddly enough, it seemed being screamed at was exactly what Richie needed to put him back on track. His fear of getting in trouble kicked in and he hurried to do as he was told.  
  
Slowly the fear faded away and he started exploring his boundaries, exactly like Sean told Duncan he would. First he would disappear only to end up being upstairs or downstairs when everyone thought he was in the other. His big rebellion was not telling Duncan where he was. A minor detail to most, but Richie was becoming increasingly annoyed by his mindless obedience. So he started small. He started to refuse to eat one thing in favor of making something else, or would wait a couple minutes before doing something that was asked of him. He still ultimately did what he was supposed to, but he was doing it on his terms. That was better than blindly following orders.  
  
Richie started eating more, trying to gain weight but for some reason his body refused to weigh much more than it's frail 167 pounds. Richie didn't think that he was that skinny, but once he found out how much he was supposed to way (at 5'10" he needed to weigh least 185) he decided that he was indeed too skinny. Then when he started hanging around the dojo some of the really big guys started picking on him. It was all good-natured, they didn't know he had an eating disorder, but it still got on his nerves. Duncan heard Richie muttering something that sounded like, 'If that guy calls me a runt one more time. . .' a couple times as he forced himself to take another bite of dinner.  
  
Finally they discovered Richie's weight problem. His body was taking the nutrients it was being given to start a late growth spurt. Slowly but surely his pants were becoming shorter. By focusing on growing his body used up more calories than he took in so he actually lost a couple pounds at one point. When he discovered this he threw a fit. He had to go out and buy new jeans that were two inches smaller in the waist and two inches longer in the inseam. He was convinced he would need another pair soon, he was going to gain the weight. He tried his best to gain his mandatory five pounds so he could start working out. But because of the growth spurt Sean suggested to Duncan that they raise it to ten pounds during one of their weekly phone calls. Richie finally gained the weight; it took him four weeks.  
  
"Mac, you promised," Richie begged when Duncan told him he still couldn't work out. "I gained the weight. You said I could after I gained ten pounds."  
  
"You still look too small to start working out," Duncan said shaking his head. "Plus some of that weight is because you're taller now, not all of it is fat like I was hoping for."  
  
"But some of it is. One inch can't add more than five pounds, which means I gained the original five that you told me. And if you let me start working out I won't look so small." Richie's new height and stint with anorexia left him looking long and lanky, like a fresh out of the beginnings of puberty fifteen year old boy.  
  
"I'm not sure about this, Richie."  
  
"Come on, Mac. Just a little. I won't do too much, and if I start to feel funny I'll stop. Please?"  
  
Duncan looked at Richie critically. Richie tilted his chin down slightly and looked up at Duncan with big, innocent, pleading, puppy dog eyes. He slowly pouted his lips slightly and blinked a couple times. Duncan was very familiar with this look. This was the same expression he had used many times when asking to barrow the T-bird to take a girl out, the same expression he had used to get out of trouble when he broke a quarter of a million dollar Chinese vase, the expression that had never been said 'no' to in over nineteen years, the expression that nobody was immune to. . . even Duncan. The expression that always got him what he wanted.  
  
Duncan sighed. "The second you don't feel right you stop, you hear me?"  
  
Richie grinned. "Okay," he chirped.  
  
"And start small. No more than eight-pound free weights until I say different."  
  
"Gotcha, Mac." Richie almost skipped to the stairs.  
  
"No sparing."  
  
" 'Kay, Mac."  
  
"Don't push yourself."  
  
"I won't."  
  
"And don't let me catch you doing something you're not supposed to."  
  
"You won't."  
  
"I'm going to tell Sean about this. If he says this is a bad idea, deal's off!" He called as Richie disappeared down the stairwell. A faint 'Whatever' drifted through the door just before it closed.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Richie sat on the bench happily lifting his eight-pound weights and watching Duncan go through a kata in the middle of the dojo floor. Richie had started working out before the dojo opened or after it closed. The first time he had done it while there were people there the same guy that called him 'squirt' and 'runt' started picking on him because of his small weights. So he just avoided working out in the dojo when it was open. He never admitted it to Duncan but he had started with five-pound weights because eight had been too heavy. Richie finished his last rep and stared at Duncan in growing curiosity. 'I could do that,' he thought as Duncan gracefully twirled the quarterstaff in a fluid almost dance. Duncan saw Richie's open gawking out of the corner of his eye and smiled slightly. He turned away and Richie got up to stand in front of him to get a better view of what he was doing.  
  
"You want to try?" Duncan asked stopping and facing Richie.  
  
Richie looked around himself. "Me?"  
  
"Yeah, unless there's some other kid gawking at me that I haven't noticed. And if that's the case he can go first if you don't want to."  
  
Richie smirked. "Nah, if he wants to gawk he can come out in the open. But since I seem to be the only one brave enough. . . I'll give it a shot."  
  
"Okay, here." Duncan handed him the staff and showed him how to hold it. Once Richie had gotten the hang of the basics Duncan got another staff and showed him a beginning kata. "Yeah, that's it. Take your time. Get used to the rhythm. Feel the balance." Soon Duncan had Richie mimicking his every move. He had gotten so used to Richie moving with him it took a second for him to notice that Richie had stopped. "You okay?" he asked noticing Richie's strange expression.  
  
"I'm fine," Richie answered. "I just think I should stop. That stuffs more of a work out than it looks." He was panting slightly.  
  
"Are you sure you're okay?"  
  
"Yeah, I just think I should stop."  
  
"Okay. We'll stop."  
  
"You can keep going. I'm just gonna get something to drink."  
  
"Have you not eaten enough today?" Duncan asked.  
  
Richie looked at Duncan then at the floor. "Maybe."  
  
"Maybe you ate enough or maybe you didn't?"  
  
Richie swallowed. "Maybe I didn't."  
  
Duncan set his jaw. He had begun to ease off of Richie about his eating, apparently he had started too soon. "Okay, let's get you something to eat," he said evenly. Richie just nodded and started toward the stairs. "Not so fast." Duncan's tone stopped him in his tracks. "You want to take the stairs you eat like you said you would. Take the elevator." Richie nodded again and went to the elevator. Taking the stairs had been Richie's sneaky way of exercising when he wasn't supposed to. Duncan had quickly caught onto his game but Sean said to let him. Now it was a quick and easy punishment to make Richie take the elevator.  
  
Duncan watched Richie pull apart the slice of pizza in front of him as he sat at the island. "What have you eaten today?" he asked. Richie shrugged and didn't look up. "You can't remember?" Richie shrugged again. "Have you eaten anything?"  
  
"I had some yogurt."  
  
"How much?"  
  
"What I didn't eat yesterday."  
  
"All of what you didn't eat yesterday?"  
  
"Most of it," he answered after a slight pause.  
  
"What else?" Richie didn't answer. "Anything else? That's all you had isn't it?" Richie still didn't respond. "Richie," Duncan started slowly. "How can I get this through to you? I know you don't want to, but you have to eat. More than just almost half a cup of yogurt. That's not enough. Especially with what you were just doing downstairs."  
  
"I know," Richie responded quietly chewing on a piece of pepperoni.  
  
"You obviously don't. I'm trying to make this as easy on you as I can. But you have to work with me, here. Either you start making the right decisions or I'm going to have to do it for you. . . again."  
  
"Fine," Richie groaned.  
  
"Fine what?"  
  
"Just fine."  
  
"Richie, what are you trying to say?"  
  
"Nothing! Would ya just leave me alone?" Richie asked.  
  
"No. I tried that. I left you alone and you didn't eat. I leave you alone, and the next think I know you're purging in the bathroom."  
  
"Hey! That was a month ago!"  
  
"I leave you alone, and just dig yourself deeper. I take away the shovel you find new things to dig with. What do you want me to do?"  
  
"I don't know! Mac, I just. . . I don't know."  
  
"Tomorrow you call Sean tell him what's going on and work out a solution."  
  
"Mac. . ."  
  
"What? Richie, we don't have much of a choice. It's Sean or somebody else. You can go to somebody else if I'm not part of the problem. If I am, as far as I know Sean's our only choice."  
  
"Fine," Richie began to slide off the stool he was sitting on leaving the pizza barely picked at.  
  
"Don't even think about it," Duncan sneered. "You finish that, and this." He put an apple beside the plate. "Tomorrow, you stay up here. No working out, period. No stairs. No push-ups when you think I'm not looking. Nothing. You just concentrate on eating."  
  
Richie's jaw dropped. "Mac, that's not fair!"  
  
"Don't give me that. Do you think it's fair what you're doing to your body? You are royally screwing yourself up, you know that?"  
  
"But, Mac!"  
  
"No! You stay up here and no working out until I say otherwise, you hear me?"  
  
Richie looked at him in disbelief. "Are you grounding me?"  
  
Duncan glared back running the words through his head. "Yeah, you're grounded."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You heard me, you're grounded."  
  
"Aw, Mac, come on! You've got to be kidding me!"  
  
"Nope, you're grounded."  
  
"Would ya stop sayin' that?"  
  
"Why? You gave me the idea."  
  
"Man, I have got to learn to keep my mouth shut." Richie slammed his fist down on the counter.  
  
"You do that, you can't eat, then you'd just be grounded longer."  
  
"Mac!" Richie's voice squeaked.  
  
"You do drink don't you?" Duncan asked suddenly.  
  
"What?"  
  
"You drink, you know water, milk, juice. . . you don't not drink, right?"  
  
"Yeah, I drink."  
  
"How much?"  
  
"I don't know, I don't measure it out."  
  
"Do you drink enough?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"Holy crap, Mac. Are you really that paranoid?"  
  
"You tend to find ways to neglect you health, first you ate too much junk food and drank too many sodas, then you didn't eat at all, now you only eat when I force you to. If I can't trust you to eat, how can I trust you to do anything else?"  
  
"I piss don't I?" Richie asked dryly.  
  
"Supposedly."  
  
"Man, you are insane!"  
  
"Me? Have you not been listening to our conversation? Where has your brain been hiding the past three months? I'm not the insane one!" Richie stared up at him and clenched his jaw. 'Oh, great, now look what you've done,' Duncan groaned inwardly. "Richie, that came out wrong. That's not what I meant."  
  
"I think you said it perfectly. I understood what you meant," Richie said curtly turning his attention back to the now cold pizza on his plate.  
  
"Richie, don't. Come on, you know I didn't mean that," Duncan said gently knowing the damage had already been done.  
  
"Whatever you say, Mac. Apparently I don't pay much attention to anything anyway. I'll be sure to work on that while I'm grounded." He tore off the crust and began to nibble at it.  
  
"Richie. . ." Duncan started. Richie dropped his food and glared up at him. "Let me guess, just leave you alone, right?"  
  
"Only if you really want to. I mean, if you don't trust me and all. Maybe you should feed me yourself. That way I there's no way I can't eat," Richie replied smugly.  
  
"I'll just leave you alone, then." Duncan went over and sat on the couch and picked up his book.  
  
Richie turned back to his plate and began to pick at it. It was cold. He didn't like cold pizza. "Don't freak, I'm just heating this up," he said as he slid off the stool. While he waited for the microwave to finish its job he grabbed a paring knife out of the drawer to cut the apple with. Nobody had ever told him he couldn't use knives but he knew he wasn't supposed to, but technically he wasn't supposed to be in the kitchen alone, so as long as he was breaking rules. . . 'Okay, so Mac's only ten feet way and there is no wall dividing the kitchen from the living room, but still technically I am the only one in the kitchen.' "I'm not allowed to be in the kitchen because there are too many thing I could hurt myself with," Richie mimicked under his breath taking the pizza out of the microwave.  
  
Duncan heard him, but didn't say anything. He decided to let Richie vent. As he watched Richie eat he began to wonder if he had been too hard on him. It was hard to decide what was okay and what was too extreme when it came to punishing Richie, now. There weren't that many things Richie did of his own free will. Most of what he did he was told to do. So when Duncan took away the one thing he really enjoyed doing; his whole world crashed down on him. He had worked so hard to gain the weight, even when his body had started to conspire against him he kept working. All he wanted to do was lift some weights and get his muscle back. He had finally been allowed to, only to have the privilege taken away less than a week later. But the original reason he couldn't work out was he didn't eat enough, so if he wasn't eating he couldn't work out.  
  
They had been getting along so well downstairs, and then Richie felt the affects of not eating enough. The boy had enough sense about him to stop, but maybe it was just because he had promised he would so many times. Duncan noticed Richie had finished the pizza and was now staring at the knife on the counter. Duncan watched and waited to see what Richie would do next.  
  
Slowly Richie picked up the knife. He wasn't sure what to do with it. He wanted to cut the apple so it would be easier to eat, but the knife felt awkward in his hand. He wondered if Duncan was watching him. He had gotten so use to the feeling of being watched he couldn't tell if the feeling was there anymore. And if Duncan was watching him what was he thinking? Richie glanced over his shoulder and saw Duncan openly staring at him.  
  
"Is this okay?" he asked indicating the knife.  
  
"Yeah, it's fine."  
  
Richie nodded slightly, his new response when he didn't know what to say, and set to the task of cutting and eating the apple. When he was done he put his dishes away, walked past Duncan without saying a word, and went into the bathroom to take a shower. He left the door completely open and stripped in the corner, he didn't care anymore.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
When Richie woke up the next morning Duncan had already gone downstairs. There was oatmeal simmering on the stove and a banana sitting on the counter, strategically placed where he couldn't miss it. Sighing heavily, he began to rummage through the cabinets and found some raisins and the cinnamon.  
  
"I hate oatmeal," he grumbled to himself spooning some out of the pot and into a bowl. He dumped in the cinnamon and raisins and wished he was allowed to eat sugar, but he wasn't. "Stupid rules."  
  
He set about the horrible task of eating. Forty-five minutes and three trips to the microwave later he finished. He washed the dishes and started looking for something else to do. There wasn't a lot around. Most of his stuff was in storage waiting to be moved into the new house they were still looking for. Sighing again he put on his headphones and settled down on the couch with one of Duncan's Grisham novels. It was 10:30; it was going to be a long day.  
  
Two hours later Duncan came upstairs and Richie was still sitting on the couch reading. Richie noticed Duncan out of the corner of his eye but didn't look up. Duncan ignored him as well as he began to put together some sandwiches for lunch. He peeled an orange and put half on one plate while eating the other half as he worked.  
  
"Hey, Rich, lunch," he said putting a plate on the coffee table in front of the boy.  
  
Richie didn't look up or even turn down his music. "I'll get to it. I'm still kinda full."  
  
Duncan pulled the headphones off Richie's ears. "Now."  
  
"Fine." Richie picked up a piece of orange and started eating it.  
  
Later that evening the elevator started up again and Richie prepared to fight, he didn't want to eat. He stayed where he was on the couch folded his arms and glared waiting Duncan.  
  
"Hey, Richie," a different voice greeted.  
  
"Joe?"  
  
"How'd you like for Mac to get out of your hair for the evening?"  
  
"About as much as I'd like for Mac to get out of my hair period," Richie answered not missing a beat.  
  
Joe laughed and made himself comfortable on the couch next to Richie. "I felt the same way about my old man when I was your age."  
  
"Mac's not my old man. He's an old man who won't leave me the hell alone," Richie retorted.  
  
"And what does that make me?"  
  
"Joe, I don't know how old you are, but I'm pretty sure Mac's a little older."  
  
Joe nodded. "Point taken. So, what do you want to do tonight?" he asked looking around the loft at the two beds and single dresser behind the couch and the small kitchen they were facing.  
  
"You hanging around?"  
  
"Yeah, I figured you two could use some time apart. So I convinced Mac to go out if I - - "  
  
"No, wait don't tell me," Richie interrupted. "Let me see if I can guess. I'm nineteen, I'm grounded, and now I have a babysitter?" Joe nodded slightly. Richie let out a choked laugh. "Aw, damn it!"  
  
"Sorry, Rich. But that pretty much sums it up."  
  
"This is ridiculous! He left me alone all day, what makes now any different?"  
  
"Sorry, you're stuck. But we can handle this one of two ways: Mac's way or my way."  
  
Richie looked up at him having already slouched into an annoyed pout. "Is there a difference?"  
  
"Yes. You can follow Mac's rules, or. . ."  
  
"Or what?"  
  
"The way I see it, I'm in charge," Joe started.  
  
Richie rolled his eyes, "Aw, man."  
  
"So," Joe continued. "If I tell you we're going out tonight, you have to do what I tell you." A mischievous light lit in Joe's eyes. "If I tell you to drink the milkshake, you have to."  
  
Richie looked at him trying to decide if his offer was a trick or not. "I'm not allowed to," he said softly.  
  
"What if I flat out ordered you to drink it?" Joe asked with a grin.  
  
Slowly Richie returned the look as he realized it was not a trick. "Then I guess I'd have to do it. I mean, if you ordered me to drink a double chocolate milkshake, there's nothing I can do about it, seeing as you're in charge and all."  
  
"My point exactly. So, you hungry?"  
  
"Not really," Richie shook his head.  
  
"Let's see if we can do anything about that."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"You did what?" Richie laughed taking another bite of his bacon cheeseburger (if he was going to break the rules he was going to go all out).  
  
"I was drunk," Joe reminded him, laughing at the memory. "I didn't know what I was going."  
  
"That's no excuse, man. That's horrible."  
  
Joe marveled at his ability to get Duncan off of Richie's mind, even if it would probably only last a couple minutes. "I was young and stupid."  
  
"You were my age, so are you saying. . ."  
  
"You're young and stupid? Yes."  
  
Richie grinned. "Jerk," he said through a mouth full of meat and cheese.  
  
"Every man is young and stupid until they're at least forty," Joe told him matter of factly.  
  
"So what's Mac's excuse?" Richie asked as he began to pick apart what was left of his burger, eventually eating the bacon.  
  
"He's just worried about you." Joe watched as Richie started eating the bun leaving the meat on the plate.  
  
"He's just overbearing and overprotective," Richie said.  
  
"He's doing what he can."  
  
"He's being a pain." Richie began pulling off small chunks of meat to eat.  
  
"He's being a friend."  
  
"Pain," Richie insisted.  
  
"I know it's cliché, but you'll thank him when you work through all this and can go back to your normal life."  
  
Richie began munching on his fries. "You're right, it is cliché. And even if it is true, it's still annoying now."  
  
"Just focus on the big picture and it won't be so bad," Joe assured him.  
  
"I'd rather focus on the details and complain."  
  
"If you look at the big picture, the details won't bother you."  
  
"You'd be surprised," Richie told him.  
  
"So would you." Joe indicated Richie's nearly empty plate.  
  
Richie looked down then back up with a confused grin. "I did that?"  
  
"Yup," Joe nodded. "You were looking at the big picture, the event, not the details, the food."  
  
"Huh," Richie grunted thoughtfully. "So, about this milkshake. . ."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"Richie?" Duncan called glancing around the empty loft. He noticed the answering machine light blinking. He pushed the play button.  
  
"Hey, Mac," Richie's voice tentatively greeted him. "Um, I'm at Joe's. . . his bar. Uh, I just thought you'd want to know. Um, I'll be back later, I guess. So, uh. . . okay, that's it. Um, bye."  
  
Duncan turned and left the loft muttering to himself.  
  
The answering machine beeped and a new message started. "Mac, its Joe. Don't be mad at Richie. I had to practically drag him out. I take full responsibility. I just thought that. . . I'm not going to explain this to an answering machine. Give me a call if you get this before Richie and I get back."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"Richie!" Duncan barked throwing open the bar door. He scanned the thinning crowd and didn't see him. "Where is he?" he demanded of the bartender.  
  
"Gangly, blonde, paranoid?" the bartender asked. Duncan nodded. "Office."  
  
Richie and Joe jumped as Duncan slammed the office door open.  
  
"One night!" he yelled slamming the door shut again. "One damn night!"  
  
"Mac, just chill a sec, would ya? I can explain," Richie rushed out.  
  
"No! Don't you ever listen? It's not complicated, you're grounded. Do you know what that means?"  
  
"Mac! Would ya just- - "  
  
"Do you?"  
  
Richie jumped as Duncan firmly gripped the arms of the chair he was sitting in trapping him. "Yes," he answered quickly.  
  
Joe cleared his throat. "MacLeod, can I talk to you?"  
  
"In a minute," Duncan snapped turning his attention back to Richie, who quickly averted his gaze to his lap. "Didn't I tell you to stay in the loft?"  
  
"Yes," Richie answered softly shrinking back into the chair.  
  
"And you still left?"  
  
"Well, yeah, but. . ." Richie stammered.  
  
"Not only did you leave, you end up in a bar? You're nineteen you're too young!"  
  
"But, Mac. . ." Richie tried to explain looking up. Duncan's hard glare made him forget what he was going to say.  
  
"No buts. Go wait in the car," Duncan ordered standing up clearing a path for Richie to leave.  
  
"Mac," Richie tried on last time.  
  
"Go!" Duncan pointed to the door.  
  
Richie stood up. "I told you he'd freak," he told Joe.  
  
"Richie," Duncan warned. Richie swallowed, grabbed his jacket off the chair, and left.  
  
"MacLeod," Joe said sternly. "Calm down."  
  
"All you had to do was make sure he ate, Joe," Duncan said.  
  
"And I did. All he needed was a change of scenery and a distraction," Joe explained calmly.  
  
"All he needed was to eat. And he's grounded, last I checked that meant he couldn't leave the house," Duncan shot back.  
  
"You being so strict with him his half the problem, you know."  
  
"What?"  
  
"How can you treat him like that? He's a kid with a few problems, not a convict. You come barging in here demanding explanations, scaring him half to death, yelling, not letting him get three words in."  
  
"Joe! You don't know what all he's been doing," Duncan insisted.  
  
"Yes, I do," Joe said. "He told me everything. Once you get him talking it's hard to get him to stop."  
  
"So how can you sit there and tell me I should just leave him alone and see what happens?"  
  
"That's not what I'm saying. I'm saying you should give him a little room to make some mistakes. You standing over him all the time is doing the opposite of what you want. It's making it harder for him to take responsibility for his own actions. Not that much of what he does is his idea, from what I hear." Duncan didn't respond. "And the only reason he went with me was because I promised I would take full responsibility. And even then he spent half the night worrying you were going to jump to conclusions and blow it all out of proportion like this."  
  
"Blow it out of. . . blow it out. . . He knew he was grounded, he knew he couldn't leave, and he did anyway. He deliberately disobeyed me."  
  
"I knew he was grounded, too. And I think he's too old for that."  
  
"It's not your decision. And I think I know Richie a little better than you do."  
  
"He's scared to death of you, did you know that?" Joe snapped, Duncan's behavior was getting on his nerves.  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"Never noticed, huh?"  
  
"Noticed what?"  
  
"The way he acts around you. He can't decide if he's supposed to stand up to you or just sit there and let you ream him out. You didn't notice the way he started cowering the second you burst in here yelling like you did? He doesn't usually stutter like that, Mac," Joe pointed out.  
  
"It's just because he knows he's in trouble," Duncan said.  
  
"It's because he's scared of you," Joe insisted. "The Richie I spent tonight with, isn't the Richie that just left. He's totally different when he's around you. And this whole bipolar act you've got going on can't be helping. I think my favorite story was how you taught him to use the quarterstaff and ten minutes later grounded him because he wasn't hungry."  
  
"He wasn't eating!"  
  
"That day. Did he eat the day before? Do you eat the same amount of food everyday? I think next time you and Sean talk maybe you should try to work out whatever it is that's bothering you so much. Because all you're stubbornness is doing is hurting Richie." Joe and Duncan glared at each other. "You have some issues that you haven't worked through yet. You know I'm right."  
  
"Joe, we'll finish this later," Duncan said turning on his heal and leaving.  
  
The ride home was completely silent. Duncan was still angry, not so much at Richie anymore as much as at Joe. Who was he to tell Duncan how to handle Richie? Duncan doubted Richie told Joe everything; he probably gave him a few choice highlights making Duncan out to be the bad guy.  
  
Richie sat quietly, head bowed, staring at his feet. Joe's plan to keep him out of trouble had backfired, just like Richie said it would. The plan also had an unseen side-effect: Richie had gotten a taste of what it was like flat out breaking the rules again, and he missed it. He had never been much of one for following the rules before the shooting, he had gotten into trouble plenty of times before, getting yelled at by Duncan was nothing new to him. . . but it never felt this bad before. As much as he wanted to, Richie doubted he would have the courage to openly defy Duncan again.  
  
When they got to the dojo Richie silently trailed a few paces behind Duncan. He kept his head bowed and only nodded in response when Duncan suggested Richie shower first. When he finished in the bathroom he went straight to bed without a word.  
  
Duncan showered and sat on the edge of his bed thinking. Joe's words ran through his mind. 'He's scared to death of you'. He got up and walked to where Richie was sleeping. He was curled into a tight ball with his arms wrapped around his pillow. Duncan lightly touched his shoulder.  
  
"Night, Rich."  
  
The boy made a soft pouting noise and tried to pull alway. Usually hearing Duncan's voice made Richie relax and stretch out, not curl up tighter.  
  
"Joe's right," Duncan realized. "You are scared of me, aren't you?"  
  
. . . . . .  
  
The next morning Duncan put on his best non-angry face as Richie shuffled across the loft to the kitchen.  
  
"Morning, Richie," he greeted casually. Richie sleepily mumbled something in response as he settled into the stool at the island. "So, what did you two do last night?" Duncan asked carefully, but not carefully enough Richie's defenses immediately went up. "I was just wondering."  
  
Richie sat quietly for a minute. "We went to dinner," he said softly, not particularly prepared to be yelled at this early in the morning.  
  
"Where did you go?" Duncan asked, trying to ease the boy's apprehension.  
  
"McCord's," he shrugged.  
  
"Ah, an old favorite. What did you get?"  
  
"Burger," Richie answered suddenly becoming very interested in the counter top.  
  
"What kind?" Duncan groaned inwardly.  
  
"Bacon cheeseburger."  
  
Luckily Richie's head was still bowed so he didn't see Duncan's frown. Knowing Richie there was more on that burger than just bacon, cheese, and meat. He seemed to add on any condiment that anybody had ever suggested putting on a burger, the fattier the better. Duncan didn't like Richie eating that way before, but now it was completely out of the question. . . and Richie knew that.  
  
"What else?" Duncan asked keeping his tone even.  
  
"Fries. . . and a milkshake." Richie looked up this time and saw Duncan's face as he mentally added the milkshake to Richie's growing list of offenses. "I know, I'm not supposed to do that, but I ate everything else, and I don't know. . . I just figured if I was going to get in trouble, I might as well do something to deserve it," he explained looking back down.  
  
Duncan took a deep breath. "Richie, do I need to explain why you can't eat everything you ate last night?"  
  
"No, I know why." Richie looked back up. "But for the first time, something actually sounded good. I wanted to eat all that. And I did. And the entire time I could hear you yelling at me, but I didn't care. I was doing something I wanted to do because I wanted to do it. I didn't have to check with anybody first, I just did it. For a couple hours I felt normal again."  
  
"Richie, I understand that. And I don't entirely blame you for what you did. But you're not normal, you're anorexic. You're working on it, but it will be awhile before you can eat that stuff again. And even then, you can't eat that much of it. You've done some serious damage to your body, and it can't process all that fat you ate last night. And the sugar is just empty calories, if you're going to eat something you need to eat something with some nutritional value, especially at the rate you've been growing."  
  
"But I was eating," Richie pointed out. "I actually ate it all."  
  
"You ate it all?" Duncan repeated.  
  
"Well, not all. I didn't finish the shake, I got full."  
  
"How'd Joe get you to do it?"  
  
"I don't know, one minute we were talking and the next I had eaten everything," Richie shrugged. "I was just as surprised as you are, man."  
  
"Richie, that's great!" Duncan exclaimed. "Granted, I wish you had picked something a little healthier than a bacon cheeseburger, but still."  
  
Richie blushed and looked down, embarrassed. Slowly he looked back up. "So, does this mean I can start working out again?" he asked with a sly grin.  
  
Duncan grinned back. "Nope, you're still grounded."  
  
"But, I ate," Richie protested.  
  
"Yeah, after you snuck out."  
  
"But, Joe said. . ."  
  
"You didn't have to go along with him," Duncan pointed out. "You could have said no."  
  
Richie rolled his eyes and sighed. "Fine. How long?"  
  
"A week."  
  
"A week?" Richie repeated in shock.  
  
"Two?"  
  
"Two!"  
  
"Three?" Duncan offered.  
  
"Mac!"  
  
"You keep fighting me on this you'll end up grounded for the next five years."  
  
"Is it too late to go back one?" Richie asked hopefully.  
  
"It doesn't sound so bad when you get some prospective, does it?" Duncan grinned.  
  
"Not as bad," Richie replied, but smiled despite himself.  
  
Duncan reached across the counter and ruffled Richie's already messed up hair. How could he have been worried Richie was scared of him? He just admitted that he liked breaking the rules. He was smiling, seem genuinely happy. . . well as happy as anybody could be after being told they've been grounded for a week. He didn't seem to have a problem talking with Duncan. He did not seem like he was scared in the least. But for some reason, Duncan couldn't get Richie flinching away from him out of his mind. And the more he thought about what Joe said, the more he noticed Richie's strange behavior when he was getting yelled at, one fight he'd be yelling back, and the next he would be silently listening, head bowed, not moving, tail tucked between his legs. Maybe Joe was right, Duncan needed to talk to Sean. Not about Richie, but about himself.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"Richie," Duncan sighed.  
  
"What?" Richie asked innocently.  
  
"Make up your mind, either you're ready to eat on your own, or you still need me to stay on your back about it."  
  
"I don't need you breathing down my neck all day." Richie crossed his arms.  
  
"You would think," Duncan snapped. "But every time I ease off you, you stop eating. Except of course when you go out with Joe, then you can't stop yourself." Joe had been taking Richie out to dinner every Friday for the past couple weeks. Each trip Richie came home full and happy.  
  
"Then maybe it's not me, maybe it's you," Richie shrugged.  
  
"I think maybe it's time I take Sean up on his offer," Duncan decided.  
  
Richie looked at him for a second, "What offer?"  
  
"Maybe we're not as ready to do this on our own as we think we are."  
  
"What? Mac, no!"  
  
"This has been a long time coming, Rich." Duncan picked up the phone and began to dial.  
  
"He treats me like I'm a kid, Mac. Come on, don't call him!" Richie begged.  
  
Duncan pointed at the plate of eggs in front of Richie. "Eat."  
  
"If I eat will you hang up?"  
  
"No. Hello, Sean, its Duncan. Can you hang on a second? Thanks." Duncan put his hand over the receiver. "Too late to strike deals, now eat." Richie made a face and stared at his plate listening to the conversation. "Hi, sorry about that. . . Yeah, we're having a bit of trouble."  
  
"Are not," Richie insisted.  
  
"Exactly. . . I don't know what's wrong with him. He thinks it's me. . . Uh-huh. . . that works for us. . . I'll call him. . . Oh, okay 867-5309. . . Yeah. . . Okay, see you then." He hung up and turned to Richie who was staring up at him.  
  
"That was fast, what did you do resort to plan 15b?" he asked.  
  
"How are the eggs?" Duncan asked ignoring Richie's comment.  
  
"Cold."  
  
"So heat them up," Duncan told him.  
  
Rolling his eyes Richie put the plate in the microwave. "So why did you give him Joe's number?"  
  
"He asked for it."  
  
"Thanks for sparing me the details," Richie mumbled.  
  
Duncan looked at his watch. "See you in a couple hours," he said heading down to open the dojo. "Feel free to clean up the kitchen once you finish breakfast."  
  
"Fine," Richie groaned.  
  
"Oh, and have some fruit. I'll be back for lunch."  
  
"Wait a minute," Richie said. "This is all sounding very familiar."  
  
"It should. So, I take it I don't need to tell you to stay here?"  
  
"Mac, I didn't do anything!"  
  
"You have to eat, Richie. You don't eat, you don't leave. Simple as that."  
  
"So if I eat can I leave?"  
  
"Not today." Duncan pulled down the gate on the elevator and disappeared down to the first floor.  
  
"What a load of crap. You friggin' control freak," Richie mumbled shoving a fork full of eggs into his mouth. "Can't do a damn thing without getting into trouble anymore. This is ridiculous. I don't need Sean. I need you to stay the hell off my back," Richie continued finishing the eggs. He sighed. "Why can't you just say that to his face, genius?" he scolded himself. "You've turned into such a pansy. Whatever you do, don't go back to the old neighborhood, you'll get your ass kicked." He grabbed an apple and a knife and started cutting it. He missed and hit is finger. "Ah! Damn it!" He stuck his finger in his mouth. "This is stupid," he mumbled around the finger. "This hurts," he added. "Mac's gonna kill me. . . wait a minute, who cares what Mac thinks? I'm leaving." Richie grabbed his jacket and headed for the back door that led to the outside staircase. He paused with his hand on the doorknob. The night Richie had snuck out with Joe came to mind, all the yelling, how bad he had felt. . . he turned around and threw his jacket back onto the couch flopping down next to it. "Pansy."  
  
AN: Please leave a review! They are all (negative, positive, indifferent) welcomed and greatly appreciated. 


	3. Part Three and Epilogue

Four days later Richie and Duncan went to the cabin to meet Joe and Sean. Duncan hoped this would be the final go round, that one last weekend getaway would help Richie get onto the right path, and help Duncan keep him there. Richie hoped that the weekend would go by quickly, and whatever happened wouldn't be too embarrassing. He didn't like that he had to talk with Sean again, and he didn't like that Joe was going to be there as well. Joe was his impartial party, his confidant, the one person that treated him normally. Richie had a strong feeling all that would change after this weekend.  
  
Duncan looked at Richie as they dropped their bags in the living room. "You ready for this?" he asked.  
  
"I didn't know that it mattered," Richie answered sweetly.  
  
Duncan rolled his eyes, "Just go to your room, okay?"  
  
"What'd I do this time?" Richie demanded.  
  
"It's not what you've done, it's what I'm about to do. So go."  
  
Richie glared at Duncan. "Whatever," he mumbled as he brushed past him.  
  
Immediately Duncan felt horrible for what he had done. Richie hadn't done anything to deserve it. Richie was just tired and cranky. . . he had had a reoccurring nightmare ever since he had been told that they were going back to the cabin. Richie had associated the cabin with being restrained and under twenty-four hour watch. His sub-conscience had chosen to remind him how much he hated all that, making it nearly impossible for him to sleep the nights before.  
  
"Hey, Mac?" Richie called tentatively down the hall.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Can I close my door?" he asked lamely.  
  
"You don't have to go to your room, Richie. I'm just. . . a little on edge right now. I'm sorry," Duncan apologized. He had spent the past nights trying to help Richie sleep, sitting in a chair next to the boy's bed talking to him softly, trying to make whatever was bothering him to go away. Richie slept fitfully through each night, unaware that Duncan knew what was going on. He seemed to like it that way.  
  
"I was planning on it anyway. I just want to know if I can close my door."  
  
"Yes, you can," Duncan told him.  
  
"Okay, that's all I wanted," Richie said closing his door.  
  
Richie dropped his bag in the corner and looked at the bed. It seemed very ominous and yet inviting at the same time. He was tired, really, really tired and all he wanted to do was sleep, but it seemed that every other time he woke up in that bed he was restrained. He decided to take his chances and flopped down. He was asleep before he could even take off his shoes.  
  
Duncan, Sean, and Joe were talking in the living room and drinking coffee an hour and a half later when they heard a muffled yell come from Richie's room. Duncan got up and was followed by Sean down the hall. Duncan opened the door and found Richie sprawled on his bed fast asleep and mumbling.  
  
"He's been doing this all week," Duncan explained in a whisper. "He hasn't really slept in days."  
  
"Let's fix that," Sean whispered back motioning Duncan towards Richie. "How did you usually handle this?"  
  
"I talk to him."  
  
"Before the shooting, I mean. I know Richie's prone to this, how did you handle it before?"  
  
Duncan shook his head. "I didn't, Tessa did." Richie made a strange noise at the sound of Tessa's name.  
  
"What did she do?" Sean prompted.  
  
"Talked to him. . . in French usually."  
  
"Did she touch him?"  
  
"Yeah, she would kind of pet him, a little."  
  
"So try it, be gentle."  
  
Duncan nodded slightly and did as he was told. He began to softly run his fingers through Richie's hair. "Richie, tout tres bien, vous estes ok," he said softly. Richie turned to the sound of Duncan's voice and seemed to settle down a little. Duncan pulled his hand back when Richie moved.  
  
"Keep going," Joe prompted from the door. He hadn't been able to resist seeing what was going on.  
  
"Tout tres bien," Duncan repeated. "Sommeil juste. Vous etes tres bien maintentant."  
  
"I don't feel good," Richie mumbled in French.  
  
"Ce qui est errone?"  
  
"Mes maux d'estomac." Richie's stomach hurt.  
  
"Allez de nouveau au sommiel, vous sera bien," Duncan assured him he would be okay and told him to sleep as he began to back away.  
  
"Le no, Tessa, ne partent pas." Richie pouted, pleading with Duncan not to leave him.  
  
Duncan turned to Sean. "He thinks I'm Tessa."  
  
Sean nodded. "Let him, just keep going."  
  
Duncan sat on Richie's bed and leaned back against the headboard. He once again began stroking Richie's hair. "I'm here," he told him. Richie rolled over and snuggled into him, his head resting on Duncan's knee. "Je suis toujours ici." Duncan repeated.  
  
"Je t'aime," came out as a barely audible sigh as Richie drifted off into a deep sleep.  
  
"I love you, too, toughguy," Duncan answered, as tears began to well up in his eyes. "Je t'aime, aussi." Sean and Joe silently left the room closing the door behind them, leaving Richie to his sleep and Duncan to the grieving he had distracted himself from for too long.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Richie rolled over and stretched groaning softly. He hit his head on something hard. Thinking it was the headboard; he scooted down a few inches and stretched again. Duncan woke up when Richie's head hit his knee. He opened his eyes and squinted into the sunlight streaming in through the window. They must have slept all night. Slowly he got up, as to not wake Richie, and pulled the window shade down. He looked at Richie who was still fast asleep bent awkwardly in the middle of his bed.  
  
"That can't be comfortable," he decided and began to pull off Richie's shoes. Richie moaned and began to stir.  
  
"Mac?"  
  
"Shh, allez de nouveau au sommiel," Duncan whispered.  
  
"Mmkay," Richie answered settling back down to sleep.  
  
"Hey, scoot up," Duncan said lightly taping Richie's foot. Richie drew his knees to his chest, but otherwise didn't move. Chuckling to himself Duncan slowly moved Richie into a sitting position.  
  
"No," Richie protested sleepily starting to wake up again.  
  
"It's okay," Duncan whispered. He dragged Richie a little higher up in the bed then lowered him back down. "Lay down." Richie sighed and settled into his pillow. "Good night, Rich."  
  
"Guniema," Richie slurred back once again falling asleep.  
  
Duncan wondered into the kitchen lured there by the sent of freshly brewed coffee. Sean and Joe looked up from the table as he entered.  
  
"Trapped all night, eh?" Joe asked with a smile.  
  
"I didn't want to wake him up and have to start all over," Duncan explained pouring himself some coffee before joining them at the table.  
  
"So did he sleep all night?" Sean asked.  
  
"I think he drooled on my pants," Duncan answered with a smile.  
  
"I bet when he wakes up that attitude he's had will be gone. What you did for him last night was more than just help him sleep. I think the physical contact was what he needed. He'd never let you do that if he was awake, but he needed it. In a couple hours he's going to feel a lot better and have no clue why."  
  
"That's all he needed? Me to touch him?"  
  
"Not all, but it's going to help."  
  
"Even if he thought I was Tessa?" Duncan asked.  
  
"I think he knew who you were. He just wanted it to be Tessa."  
  
"Oh." Duncan looked at his coffee and thought about what he had just been told. "He never got closure," he said suddenly. "He was still in the hospital, he never got to go to the funeral. He said he didn't care, he had to have though. I bet that's why he kept going to cemeteries."  
  
"That's probably part of it. And at the time he might not have cared, but he certainly does now. Although with how extremely he reacted to her death I don't know if it would have helped much if he had gone to the funeral. Mostly I think he just misses her and he's not sure how to handle the loss. He's not sure how to handle much of anything anymore. And I hate to admit it, but I think taking so much control over him while he was here the first time is part of it. I said he needed to depend on you, he's a little too dependent now."  
  
"Great, so we just screwed him up worse," Duncan snorted.  
  
"We can fix it," Sean assured him. "I've been talking with Joe and I think I know why Richie's still not eating." Duncan looked at him. "He's testing you, checking to see if it's really his decision when you start letting him take charge. Every time you took over again and punished him for not eating, he figured it was all a trick and gave up. He doesn't know how to control what he's doing anymore because he hasn't be allowed to for so long. And he can't tell you 'no' because you're the one in charge. With Joe it was always Richie's decision. Joe came in and encouraged him to break the rules, eat what he wanted, basically act like he did before the shooting, but only if Richie wanted to. Richie liked that."  
  
"He said he felt normal when he was around you," Duncan mentioned to Joe. "I thought it was because you let him eat like that, not because I wouldn't."  
  
"I wouldn't have let him eat anything that was going to hurt him. Splurging every now and again is good for you," Joe said.  
  
Duncan turned back to Sean. "So how do we end his dependency?"  
  
"Give him control and let him keep it. If he doesn't eat, he doesn't eat. Let him work out. He's smart enough to stop when he doesn't feel right. Soon he'll realize that not eating means not working out or going out, not because he's in trouble, but because he'll be tired and weak. Then he'll eat. I bet it won't even take him a week. And once he gains that independence, he'll start looking for more. And within reason you have to give it to him. Treat him like you would have before the shooting, as if nothing was different. Give him a chance to make some mistakes, let him be a kid again."  
  
Joe sat quietly and listened. He was a little uncomfortable. He had come to the cabin to help Richie. He knew the story of what happened before, but only Richie's side of it. And now listening to Sean and Duncan something was very clear to him. That night at the bar when Duncan said he knew Richie better than Joe did, he was wrong. Richie hadn't told Duncan most of what happened to him as a child, Richie hadn't told Joe either, but Joe knew.  
  
"He's always been dependent, though," Joe said softly. "Since he was a kid. People have always told him what to do. And he's always listened. He didn't really decide to go out with me that night, I told him to, not directly, but I talked him into it. He didn't want to." Duncan and Sean looked at Joe. "I think there's some things I need to tell you. But you can't tell Richie you know, he doesn't know I know."  
  
"Then how do you know whatever it is you know?" Duncan asked.  
  
"Mac, I've been your Watcher for a while now. When you took in Richie I got curious, looked up his records, and found a couple things out."  
  
"The orphanage won't even let Richie look at his file, why'd they let you?"  
  
"The Watchers have people hidden all throughout the orphanage systems. That's where most immortals are raised these days. I was curious who you had taken in, and I figured I get a jump on his Watchers' file. He is immortal isn't he?"  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Duncan slowly opened the door and looked in on Richie who was still sleeping and snoring softly. Duncan had no idea how much Richie had been through. No wonder he had a hard time trusting people and went around waiting for people to stab him in the back. With Richie it had always been all or nothing. He had been so eager to be accepted and to prove himself when they first met that it never occurred to Duncan all Richie's minor offences had been used to test their relationship. Duncan had passed all his tests before. But after they got back from the cabin and Richie started re-testing the relationship and exploring his new boundaries Duncan began to fail the tests. Richie started testing Joe; Joe passed. Richie began to shift his trust from Duncan to Joe. The only reason he didn't try to completely separate himself from Duncan was because he had become too dependent and submissive. Duncan's need to be in control had made it worse. Duncan hadn't been able to control what had happened to Tessa and Richie that night; he was trying to make up for it by controlling what was happening with Richie now. Richie was too confused and scared to ever tell him 'no' without somebody backing him up. It wasn't too late to correct the mistake. It wasn't going to be easy on either one of them, but it was past time for Richie to take over again.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"There he is," Duncan announced with a smile as Richie shuffled into the living room a couple hours later. Richie gave him a sleepy grin and lazily waved a greeting to Joe and Sean. "It's about time you woke up," Duncan continued trying his best to treat Richie as he had before the accident. "I was beginning to think you were going to sleep all day."  
  
"I was planning on it, but figured I might as well come out and say hi," Richie shrugged dropping into an armchair and yawning. "What time is it?"  
  
"10:30," Joe answered. Richie looked outside obviously confused about the sunlight, and not aware of how long he had slept. "Saturday morning," he added.  
  
Richie made a face. "What happened to Friday?"  
  
"You slept through it," Duncan answered with a grin.  
  
Richie laughed. "My bad, sorry 'bout that."  
  
"You needed the sleep," Duncan shrugged. "Are you hungry?"  
  
"Not really," Richie answered slowly.  
  
"Okay, suite yourself."  
  
Richie cocked his head to one side. "Did you say okay?"  
  
"Yeah. I can't tell you what to do for the rest of your life."  
  
Richie remained silent and mulled over what he had been told. It was his decision now. The only question was how long would it take for Duncan to force him to eat.  
  
"Richie?" Sean repeated.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"I said, do you mind if I get a better look at you?"  
  
"What's there to look at?" he shrugged.  
  
"I just want to see how everything is healing."  
  
"You want to see if I've done anything," Richie corrected.  
  
"Why don't we take this to your room," Sean suggested.  
  
Richie looked at Joe then looked back to Sean. "Why don't you take it to my room?" he asked with a cocky grin. He could see Joe smile out of the corner of his eye.  
  
"Richie, I just want to look," Sean assured him.  
  
"Well, I don't want you to look," Richie replied happy Joe was there to give him the courage to fight back, but he couldn't bring himself to look and see how Duncan was reacting to his behavior.  
  
"Why not?" Sean asked slipping into psychologist mode.  
  
Richie made a face, that tone meant that sooner or later he would be tricked into complying. "Cause," he shrugged. Joe tried not to laugh; he could see Duncan's face. . . Richie's behavior was driving him insane and it was all he could do not to step in and order Richie to let Sean examine him.  
  
"Are you embarrassed?"  
  
"Nope," Richie answered shaking his head slightly. "I just don't wanna let you see."  
  
"But you don't know why?"  
  
"I know why. I'm just surprised you haven't figured it out by now. And I thought you were good at what you did." Joe laughed out loud he couldn't stop himself, but did after getting a look from Duncan that clearly said 'Don't encourage him.' Richie was trying his hardest to be difficult, just because he could. Richie knew Sean wouldn't let Duncan yell at him, and he was taking full advantage of the situation.  
  
"You're still alive, aren't you?" Sean asked.  
  
Richie thought for a second. "Fair enough, but the answer's still no."  
  
"Richie, we can do this in your room or we can do it here in front of everybody. It's up to you. But it will happen. And I think you're too self-conscience to do it out here."  
  
Richie sighed, he had been beaten and he knew it. . . but he wasn't going down that easily. "Not gonna happen."  
  
Sean looked at Duncan. "What do you think?"  
  
"I think you need to suck it up, Richie. Maybe you should just let him look. You could have been done by now if you hadn't argued to much," Duncan answered carefully choosing his words not to actually tell Richie what to do. Richie was very confused by his response. He was expecting to get into trouble, get yelled at, sent to his room, ordered to let Sean look, something other than a seemingly indifferent opinion.  
  
"Or we could just drop the whole idea and go on with our day," Richie suggested, trying to get some kind of reaction out of Duncan.  
  
"Or you could let him look, then go on with your day," Duncan replied wondering how much longer he should let Richie get away with what he was doing. Before the shooting he had always tried to keep Richie's attitude in check, and he wouldn't have let Richie get away with this much.  
  
"Or not."  
  
"Richie," Duncan decided that this was a good place to stop him. "Let him look."  
  
"I don't want to," Richie replied  
  
Ten minutes later Richie was in his room with his shirt off and his hands above his head. Sean pinched at his stomach to see if he could get a hold of any fat.  
  
"How much do you weigh now?" he asked.  
  
"One eighty something. . . five, six maybe."  
  
"Not bad. Do you still work out?"  
  
"When I'm not grounded," Richie grumbled.  
  
"How tall are you now?"  
  
"Just this side of six feet, I guess," he shrugged.  
  
Sean looked Richie up and down sizing him up. "That seems about right. You can put your arms down now. You need to either eat more or workout less for a couple months still." He began lightly tracing the scars on Richie's chest.  
  
"Okay," he sighed.  
  
"You're doing well, though. You're just trying to do too much too fast. You need to relax."  
  
"Relax?"  
  
"Yes, relax. Stop trying so hard. You can put your shirt back on. Duncan tells me you've been having trouble sleeping."  
  
"Not really," Richie answered. Sean raised his eyebrows. "Maybe a little," he admitted.  
  
"Do you want to tell me why?"  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Duncan walked across the yard to where Richie stood on the water's edge. "Sean said you wanted to talk to me," he said. Richie nodded but kept his back to Duncan. "Is anything wrong?" Richie shook his head. "Then what is it?"  
  
"I just wanna tell you somethin'."  
  
"Are you going to look at me?"  
  
"Nope," Richie shook his head again.  
  
Duncan smiled. Whatever it was he wanted to say embarrassed Richie "Okay, shoot."  
  
Richie stood silently looking over the water for a minute. "I had a dream last night. . . about Tessa. And it got me thinking. I told her a lot, but I never told her the one thing I should have," he started. "And I wanted to tell you before it's too late." He glanced over his shoulder at Duncan then looked away again. "So, uh. . . I don't really know how to say this. . ."  
  
"Richie, I think I know what you're trying to say. You don't have to say it if you don't want to."  
  
"I want to, it just might take me a second."  
  
"Only if you want to."  
  
"I do," Richie assured him. He took a deep breath. "You guys took a real chance on me," he started again staring at the water. "You let me move in and work for you and you barely knew me. You told me about immortals and trusted me not to say anything." He sighed and crossed his arms, not as a sign of defiance but an attempt to comfort himself. "I know I'm not the easiest person to get along with, I have a bad attitude, a short temper, I'm stubborn and I can be a real shit. . . But I can honestly say you've seen me at my worst." His voice shook slightly. "And the fact that you cared enough to stick around and try an' help me after everything I said and did. . . that means a lot. I mean. . . Geeze Mac, you put your entire life on hold for me just to make sure I was okay. You stuck by me the entire time, when most people would'a split the second it got a little complicated." He whipped his cheeks and sniffed. "I've never know anyone that would have done that for me. I never would have expected anyone to. But you did. . . You've done so much for me. And no matter how much I've ever complained, I know that the person I am now and the person I would'a been if you hadn't given me a break when I really needed it. . . They're so different it's literally the difference between life and death. And I'm not talking about suicide. I would have gotten myself into some major trouble by now if you hadn't stepped in and made me straighten up." He paused and thought for a minute. "I spent the better part of eighteen years learning how not to get attached. Then you and Tessa came along. And in less than a year screwed all that up, made me forget everything I'd ever taught myself. It may have taken me nineteen years to get this far, but for the first time. . ." He turned to face Duncan. "For the first time I can honestly say. . ." his bottom lip trembled and he sniffed a couple times. "I feel like such an idiot," he laughed whipping at the tears on his cheeks.  
  
"Richie," Duncan said fighting for control himself. "You don't have to say anything else. Trust me, you've said enough."  
  
Richie shook his head. "No, I have to say this or I could live the rest of my life regretting it. I can honestly say. . . I got attached. I found two people that mean the world to me. And my biggest regret in life is that I never told Tessa. . . I never told her how much I loved her. I don't want to have that regret with you, too," he finished in a whisper.  
  
"Are you trying to say you love me?" Duncan ventured.  
  
Richie blushed, smiled a little, and laughed. "If I didn't actually get the words out, that's what I was goin' for. So, uh. . . yeah, I love ya, Mac." His eyes dropped as he said the words. They stood silently for a couple minutes. He started laughing again. "You know what? I've never said that before. Figures my first time would be with a guy, huh? And of course, I'd be cryin' like a baby."  
  
"Richie, look at me," Duncan said gently raising Riche's chin. "You don't have to feel weird about all this. I know. . . and I love you, too."  
  
"Last night. . . it was you," Richie said softly. "For the past four months, it's been you. I just wanted it to be Tessa so bad. I remember her coming into my room at night, just to check. And I remember her talking to me when I was kinda half-asleep. For the longest time I had no idea what she was saying. . . but now I know, and I never said it back. The one thing I want more than for her to come back is to know that she knew, to know that I told her. . . I've stood out here so many times and just said it over and over thinking that it might help, but it never did." He turned around and faced the water again. "When it happened, you know, the uh, the. . ."  
  
"The shooting," Duncan supplied.  
  
"Yeah. When it happened I wasn't worried, somehow I knew I was going to be okay. Then I saw how scared she was. . . by the time I realized she was dying, she was dead. It was too late to tell her. One minute she was there and the next. . . the next she was gone, and it was too late. I'm never going to get the chance, I'm never going to see her again, hear her laugh, hear her voice. . . what I wouldn't give to have her yell at me one more time."  
  
"Richie, she knew. You told her," Duncan said softly. Richie turned to face him.  
  
"I did?"  
  
"Yes, about a month before. You were asleep when you said it, but that made it all the more special to her. It meant you really meant it, you weren't just saying it. She came in that night to go to bed and she was beaming. I'd never seen her so happy before. She knew, you don't have to worry about that." Duncan put his hand on Richie's shoulder. "And you said it again last night. . . to me, but you thought I was her. Who knows how often you actually said it. You didn't seem very inhibited about it last night; I wouldn't be surprised if it was a nightly thing with you guys."  
  
"I really told her?"  
  
"Yes, you did."  
  
"Well, geeze man, I wish I had known that. All this worrying about nothing. . . And I felt stupid before," Richie gave Duncan a half grin and rolled his eyes. "Well, damn it."  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
"I thought of something else I need to tell you," Richie laughed a little and shook his head slightly. "Will the torture never end?"  
  
"Richie, you don't have to say anything else."  
  
"Well, uh, this is kinda important."  
  
"Okay, what is it?"  
  
"I know about the will. I heard you and Sean talking about it. I know she left me everything," Richie rushed out. "Is it wrong that I don't want it?" he asked softly.  
  
"You don't want it?"  
  
"No. I mean, no offence to Tessa or anything, but who leaves everything they have to a nineteen year old?"  
  
"Well, in Tessa's defense she thought you were going to older you got it," Duncan told him. "And I think you should take it."  
  
"Mac, I don't want it. You can have it."  
  
"I don't need it. And right now you may think you don't, but who knows what's going to happen in the future. You might hit a snag, run on some bad luck, any number of things. Even if you don't spend it, you should take the money in case of an emergency. . . just to have around if you ever need it. She wanted to make sure you would have some security when you got older. She wanted you to have it, Richie," Duncan insisted.  
  
"I guess that's why you didn't seel the Mercedes?" Richie ventured.  
  
"It's not mine to sell," Duncan shrugged. "Half of the money from the store is yours, too, you know," he added.  
  
"That's why you wanted to be sure I didn't mind when you sold it?" It was all becoming clear to Richie.  
  
"Yeah. I didn't want to tell you, because I didn't know how you were going to react. I probably should have, though. I'm sorry."  
  
Richie smirked. "I wouldn't'a told me either, man. Don't worry about it."  
  
"So, what do you want to do about the car? You don't need to answer now, just you need to start thinking about it," Duncan told him leading the way back to the cabin.  
  
"I wanna keep it," Richie said resolutely following him across the porch. "She hated my bike. I'm gonna keep that, too, but. . . maybe I'll use the car a little more often."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
*SIX MONTHS LATER*  
  
"Are you sure this is the right place?" Amanda asked as Duncan pulled to a stop. "I've only met Richie once, but this seems a little out of his league."  
  
"This is the address he gave me," Duncan shrugged. "And there's his car." He pointed out the white Mercedes across the street. "This must be it."  
  
Richie had moved out four months earlier and had refused to tell anyone where to. He didn't want anyone to see it before he had it ready. So, for the past four months when he wasn't working out or working at the dojo he was working on his apartment. He had painted, replaced the carpet, redone the kitchen, and who knows what else. Now he felt he was ready to show everybody.  
  
Duncan got out of the car and waited for Amanda before crossing the street to the apartment building. Together they climbed the stairs up to the fifth and final floor, Richie's floor. It seemed it was entirely Richie's floor, the stairs dead ended at a small landing leaving enough room for two or three people to stand.  
  
"This can't be it," Amanda repeated for the third time. "You can't seriously believe this is it. He's not even twenty, there's no way he could afford this."  
  
"He's a clever boy," Duncan shrugged. "You'd be surprised at what all he can do once he puts his mind to it." He assumed Richie had come around and used some of the money he had inherited from Tessa to move out. Duncan was glad he did it, Richie needed some independence from Duncan, and he needed to make peace with everything that had happened in the past ten months. Moving out seemed to have given him just that. Duncan knocked lightly on the door and was slightly surprised when Joe opened it.  
  
"You have got to see this," Joe said stepping aside for them to enter.  
  
Duncan and Amanda stepped inside and took in the living room before them. It was neatly and conservatively decorated with a simple brown leather couch, with matching love seat and chair all forming a neat 'u' shape around a coffee table with the couch facing an armoire that was undoubtedly hiding the TV and stereo. It didn't look like anything they were expecting to see in Richie's apartment. They ventured further in and saw the dining room set for four. Past the dining room was the kitchen where they found Richie standing in front of an indoor grill poking at steaks.  
  
He looked up with a smile. "Hey!" he greeted. "Sorry about not answering the door myself, I'm just scared these'll burn if I blink or anything," he apologized indicating the main course.  
  
"Duncan," Amanda gasped making her way to Richie. "There is no way that this is that gangly little thing I met in Paris last year." She ran her fingers across Richie's back causing him to giggle and blush.  
  
"I'm just gonna take that as a compliment," he said trying his best to be calm, but failing miserably.  
  
"I'm just saying that you have turned into one nice piece of man," she continued. Richie grinned and blushed harder.  
  
Over the past months Richie had hit his target weight and had started working out with Duncan regularly resulting in a fully developed physic that girls found hard not to stare at as he passed on the street. He had also abandoned his youthful curls in favor of a short almost military hair cut, making him look everyone of his almost twenty years and maybe one more. The guys at the dojo stopped picking on him, which gave him a slight self-confidence boost that was evident in the way he now carried himself. The awkward, unsure teenager had completely vanished leaving a confident young man in its place.  
  
"Amanda, he's too young for you," Duncan reminded her.  
  
"What's a couple hundred years?" Richie asked flashing Amanda his most charming smile.  
  
Joe clapped his hand on Richie's shoulder. "Down boy."  
  
"Got any wine glasses?" Duncan asked changing the subject and placing the bottle of wine he was holding on the counter.  
  
"Behind ya on the left," Richie answered as he began taking the stakes off the grill. He glanced up and caught Duncan's eye with an innocent smile. Duncan smiled back.  
  
"How old are you?"  
  
"Almost twenty-one," Richie answered with a shrug.  
  
"Almost twenty," Duncan corrected. "Too young, so don't even ask."  
  
Richie made a face and turned his attention to the backed potatoes in the oven. Even with his newfound confidence, he still found it hard to say no to Duncan. Duncan used this to his advantage without rubbing it in Richie's face subtly keeping Richie from doing anything he wasn't supposed to. It seemed to work and Richie seldom complained.  
  
After dinner they all settled down in the living room.  
  
"Did you really do all this yourself?" Duncan asked.  
  
Richie glanced around the room. "Yup. That's why it took so long."  
  
"I never pegged you for the do-it-yourself type," Joe commented. "But you did a great job."  
  
"Thanks. I, uh, spent some time living with a real home improvement nut when I was a kid. I used to follow him around and help whenever he'd let me. It's actually a lot of fun, a lot of work, but a lot of fun."  
  
"One of those 'I did this' things, huh?" Duncan asked.  
  
"Men and they're tools, it never changes," Amanda huffed.  
  
Richie grinned. "Would you rather talk paint colors or something?"  
  
"I'd rather get the grand tour," she said standing up and pulling him to his feet.  
  
"You've already seen everything," Richie insisted with a grin.  
  
"I haven't seen the bedroom," she purred. Richie's grin widened and he couldn't come up with anything to say.  
  
"And you won't," Duncan said patting the couch for Amanda to sit back down. "He's too young for you, Amanda. So stop trying."  
  
"But, Mac, it's just a room," Richie said.  
  
"No buts."  
  
"Kiss mine," Richie shot back with a grin, that quickly vanished when he realized what he'd said.  
  
"Well, I want to see this room, too. So, while you guys duke this out, Amanda and I will go have a peek," Joe said standing up.  
  
"Sorry," Richie said as soon as Amanda and Joe left the room.  
  
To his surprise Duncan smiled at him. "I can't believe you said that," he chuckled.  
  
"Me neither."  
  
"It's about time you stood up for yourself."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"I've been waiting for you to say something other than 'sure thing' or 'yeah, just a sec' when I tell you to do something."  
  
"You have?"  
  
"Yeah, you are your own person you know." Richie just looked at him. "But don't think that this means you get to go off and do whatever you want, I've still got my eye on you."  
  
Richie smiled. "Big brother's always watching. Now if you'll excuse me, there's a beautiful girl in my bedroom and I'd like to be there with her," he said heading down the short hall.  
  
"Too young," Duncan called after him.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
*ONE MONTH AFTER THAT*  
  
Richie was sound asleep, Duncan had half expected him to still be awake. Quietly he put down the alarm clock and stood over the sleeping boy. . . no, man. The alarm went off and Richie sat up with a groan.  
  
"You have got to be kidding me," he mumbled to himself not opening his eyes as he blindly slapped the clock hopping to hit the snooze button. When the offending noise stopped he dropped face first into this pillow still unaware that he had company.  
  
"So that's why you're always late," Duncan said. Richie jumped and turned to face him. "You know, if you would just get up when the alarm goes off, you wouldn't have such a problem."  
  
"I want my key back," Richie said putting his hand out.  
  
Duncan chuckled. "Happy Birthday."  
  
"Why are you here?" Richie whined dropping back to his pillow.  
  
"It's tradition."  
  
"You didn't do this last year," he pointed out.  
  
"You weren't twenty last year," Duncan explained.  
  
"Mac, it's six o'clock in the morning!"  
  
"Actually, it's a little after midnight."  
  
"What?" Richie sat up and looked at his clock. "You changed the alarm?"  
  
"You never wake up when I try. And I wanted to be the first to say happy birthday."  
  
"That's the funny thing about birthdays," Richie mumbled laying back down and closing his eyes. "It's still going to be here at six-thirty, so come back then."  
  
"Get up," Duncan pulled the blankets off the bed. "We've got to get going."  
  
"No, YOU'VE got to get going, I'M going back to sleep."  
  
"Up."  
  
"No."  
  
"Get up."  
  
"Maaa-aaac!"  
  
"Up."  
  
"Fine, give me five minutes," Richie grumbled sitting up. As soon as Duncan left the room Richie promptly settled back down to sleep. Just as he was blissfully slipping off into unconscienceness the alarm went off again. "Aw, damn it." He sat up and hit the alarm off button. "No use even tryin' now."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"Are you even going to tell me what we're doing?" Richie asked from the passenger seat of the T-bird.  
  
"We're going to the cabin."  
  
Richie glared at Duncan. "Mac! I didn't do anything!" Almost a year later, Richie still hated going to the cabin.  
  
"It's just us, I promise. I just need to do this outside."  
  
"Do what outside?" Richie asked suspiciously.  
  
"You'll see," Duncan grinned at him.  
  
Richie yawned. "I hate it when you do that."  
  
Duncan chuckled. "Still half asleep?"  
  
"I'll tell you when I get there, right now I doubt I'll remember anything that's happening. I'm running off of, like, maybe half and hour of sleep. . . maybe."  
  
"Then you should go to bed earlier," Duncan said.  
  
"If I had known you were planning on kidnapping me in the middle of the night I would have," Richie assured him curling into the seat.  
  
"Going to sleep?"  
  
"Workin' on it," Richie yawned. "It'd be easier if you'd shut up."  
  
"I've got your present in the trunk, so you better watch it."  
  
Richie looked at him. "If I have to get up at midnight and go to the cabin to get whatever's back there. . . then I don't want it."  
  
"You'll want this, trust me."  
  
Four hours later Richie wrapped his arms tighter around himself wishing he had brought more than just a sweatshirt. He scooted closer to the fire Duncan had built.  
  
"It's freezing out here, Mac. Can't we go inside?"  
  
"No. Now be quiet and listen," Duncan said looking at Richie through the flames. "A long time ago, a clan was formed in the highlands of Scotland," he started letting his Scottish burr slip through. "And the people elected a leader. He was the strongest, bravest, and smartest of all the men. His clan trusted him to lead them and protect them in battle and he did." Richie began wondering if Duncan's story had a point. He was tired and didn't care if he was at the cabin, there was a bed right inside waiting for him, and he wanted to sleep. "Years later the elected leader, the chieftain, died. His role and duties were passed onto his eldest son. From then on the role of chieftain was passed from father to son. If the chieftain had no son, a son of the clan was chosen. No matter if he was the biological son or a chosen son the boy was told at sunrise on his twentieth birthday." Duncan looked directly at Richie, who smiled faintly and sat up a little taller. "The son was told on the day he became a man, and to seal his destiny he was presented with a clan sword forged just for him by the chieftain." Duncan stood and motioned for Richie to follow. "I have no son, and have chosen you as my successor," he said solemnly handing Richie something wrapped in the MacLeod clan tartan.  
  
"Is this what I think it is?" Richie asked with an embarrassed grin.  
  
"If you've been paying attention, then yes."  
  
Slowly and carefully Richie unwrapped the sword and held it closer to the fire to get a better look. "Forged by the chieftain. . . that means you made this, right?"  
  
"Actually, I'm breaking tradition a little. There's not really a clan to become chieftain of, so this is more symbolic than anything. But that was forged by the chieftain, my father made that sword and gave it to me on my twentieth birthday," Duncan told him.  
  
Richie's eyes widened. "This is the sword your dad gave you?" Duncan nodded. "This is 380 years old?"  
  
"382," Duncan corrected.  
  
"Close enough. . . why are you giving this to me?"  
  
"Because I don't have a son to pass anything along to. You're the next best thing," Duncan smiled with an innocent shrug.  
  
"Well, I guess since I don't have a dad to pass anything along to me. . . you're the next best thing, too." Richie held the sword up and looked at it. "You dad made this? It's awesome. . . and it's really mine?"  
  
"I couldn't make you a sword, but I could make that sword yours," Duncan pointed out the neat engraving on the blade just under the hilt that read 'Richard Ryan'.  
  
"Dang, Mac," Richie grinned. "So, you ever gonna show me how to use it?"  
  
"Maybe some other time," Duncan told him. "I'm sure you'll learn one of these days." The sun began to rise over the water. Duncan looked at Richie, who was staring at the sword, transfixed by awe and wonderment. Duncan grinned. "What the hell, come here." He led Richie into the yard. "Okay, put your right hand under the hilt. . ."  
  
AN: That's the end. I have a possible sequel floating around in my head. Who knows if I get the chance I might write it. Right now I have another story that I've started posting that I need to finish. Oh, and as I've mentioned in other stories when I explored other languages. . . I don't speak French. So anything French in this story was gotten from a translator site. If any of it was wrong (which is entirely possible) please accept my deepest and most heartfelt apologies. And if you'd like you can leave corrections in a review and I will change my mistakes. Thank you for taking the time to read my story, please take a few more seconds out of your day and leave a review. 


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